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1 



) CRIMORA; 



LOVE’S CROSS. 




BY G. LEIGHTON DIT^ON, 

)» 

AUTHOR OF “ CIRCASSIA, OR A TOUR TO THE CAUCASUS. 


Then give me those arms of light ; that sword, 'and that spear of 
steel. I shall meet Dargo with thee, and my lovely Connal. Fare- 
well, ye rocks of Ardven ! ye deer ! and ye streams of the hill ! We 
shall return no more. Our homes are distant far.”— Crimora. 




BOSTON: 


GEORGE LEIGHTON DITSON 

1852. 





Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by 
GEORGE LEIGHTON DITSON, 

In Ihe.CIcrk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusettsi 




Ml- 


llAXiJi & Chandler, tfinters, 
No. 37 Cornhill. 


C R I M O R A . 


4 


CHAPTER I. 

There was about to be on the earth a new revelation. 
In the image of its Maker’’ it was to appear, — a 
bright and breathing creature imbued with a matchless, 
undying spirit from the altar of high heaven. 

What revelation of infinite power, love and wisdom - — 
of the essentials of divinity — has ever been vouchsafed 
to mortals, which has exceeded in beauty, in “ fearful and 
wonderful make,” the human form ! In, such a form 
was to be embodied our new revelation ; and for the occa- 
sion Nature seemed to deck herself in gala-day trappings. 
Flinging back from her sinless face the misty veil of the 
early dawning, she turned the dew drops into diamonds for 
her feet, — touched with fair freshness the rich foliage- 
drapery which hung about her queenly figure, — gathered 
on her ever youthful brow a tiara of golden morn-light, 
and awaited the advent. 

1 * 


6 


C R I M 0 11 A . 


In the early part of the present century, on a gorgeous 
couch in a castellated mansion overlooking the 'waters of 
the Clyde, — her head pressing the softest of pillo’ws 
which the richest of Mechlin lace adorned — a beautiful 
woman gave birth to a sweet, smiling child. No raven 
Sapped its dark wings at the window; no moan was 
heard ; no spectre seen ; no tempest howled about the tur- 
rets when the little one’s first cry crept through the ear, 
and dovrui into the heart of the happy father ; but a tur- 
tle dove, which had long been the pet of the newly made 
mother, ^flew to her side and nestled down by her cheek in 
the rich silken waves of her luxuriant hair — then arched 
its neck, and sought her luscious hps as if ’t would say, 
‘‘ in the new comer it must have no rival.” It v/as a 
pleasing incident, and 'was proclaimed by all as an omen 
that gentleness and love would characterise the child. 
The sequel, perchance, wdll confirm it. 

The room for a time had been darkened, but as the fair 
sufferer awoke from a refreshing sleep, the satin drapery 
of the windoAvs A'^ as put aside, and the rich mellow light 
allowed to pour into the apartment. What a gush of joy 
every soul CA^olved ! The gentle mother smiling in the 
fulness of her bliss, folded to her snoAvy bosom the new- 
born infant ; from Avhence a pale glory seemed radiating, 
as though indeed another Holy Child lay there. It Avas in 
truth a sacred revelation, — an ultimate of perfections in 
the harmonious progress of events, — a lovely bud that 
Avas to beautifully blossom in the great field of humanity. 

If the mother A’vas happy in her breathing treasure, the 
father Avas no less so ; and in Avild enthusiasm bathed with 
kisses and tears her round alabaster-like shoulders, and 


C R I U 0 R A . 


i 




sraootli brow, till a thought of her present weakness 
warned him that his adoration even, might be wearying. 

Donald Lathmon was the happj^ man of whom we 
speak ; — a noble-hearted Scotsman, who held in trust for 
grandchildren — should there be any to his family — a 
large and valuable property. The story which I am about 
to relate concerning this branch of the Lathmon stock, I 
learned a few years ago from an old maU, who, with my- 
self had been resting his aged limbs among the tombs of 
the far-famed Necropolis of Glasgow. He had noticed my 
particular examination and admiration of a monument, 
crowning an elevated spot on that lovely hill consecrated 
to the dead ; and aware that I was a stranger, lingered 
on the Bridge of Sighs ” (most appropriately named, for 
over it all must pass who go to lay their loved ones in that 
sacred spot), which joins the Necropolis to the living city, 
and spans the gurgling Molandina Burn, to encounter mo 
on my return. 

Do you know anything of the Lathmon’s, whose tomb 
yonder, you have been so particularly regarding ? ” said 
the old man respectfully, as I came up to him. 

If they are of that family,” I said, of whom Ossian 
so divinely sings, — ^ who poured from the eastern hill like 
a stream of darkness,’ — I know something of their histo- 
ry ; yet, I would be thankful to one who would teach me 
more.” 

Come v/ith me, then,” joyfully replied the old man, 
and from yon elevation, which is near my own dwelling, 
I will show to you the mansion of the worthy and once 
happy Lathmbn’s ; and,” added he, “ if you like vrell a 
storj^ of truth, — that is, I assure you, sti'anger than fic- 


8 


CRIMORA . 


tion, — I will tell you the life some of them have sped ; 
but it will take time — time, as I am old.” 

I expressed my gratitude, and my new friend and guide 
led nimbly up the hill. When arrived at the top, he point- 
ed out the home and the once fertile lands of the Lath- 
mon’s, with whom, as he afterwards stated, he had spent 
his happiest days as a gardener. AVhen satisfied that I 
had drank in all the beauties of the scene, he conducted 
me to his own cottage, and beneath the porch began tliis 
tale : — 

It was a noble family ! — not ennobled by titles, but by 
deeds. Donald was a favorite child, and while his father 
and mother lived, had no greater pleasure than that afford- 
ed to him by implicit obedience to their wills. The secta- 
rianism and bigotry of the times, however, occasionally 
influenced Them unfortunately — once in a most serious 
affair which forced upon their son a wife, whose mind was 
as angular as his was free from duplicity. 

The result of this marriage was a daughter — in giving 
birth to which the mother passed away into the spirit land, 
where she was soon joined by both her father-in-law and 
mother-in-law. 

Young Donald was fully aware of the irreparable loss he 
had met with in the death of his parents — but he was now 
free ; and as soon as time had tempered his grief, he sought 
and won the affections of the most lovely and accomplished 
woman of the land ; — and, as we have seen at the com- 
mencement of this chapter, was blessed by another daugh- 
ter — a real child of love. 

One would now suppose that Donald Lathmon found his 
home a perfect paradise. It might have been so, perhaps, 


CRIMORA . 


9 


had it not sheltered a little venomous toad in the shape of 
his first child, who partook so entirely of the character of 
her mother, was so full of envy and malice, that the morn- 
ing which ushered in the new birth, ^ destined her for a 
foreign residence. . 

Prudence Christian, — for such was the name Mrs. 
Lathmon had given to her most imprudent, unchristian 
product, — was despatched to London to reside with, and 
be educated by, a religious aunt, who possessed many of 
the qualifications of a very disagreeable women, but who 
held on to society by a link of seeming piety. This rela- 
tive’s unnatural severity of deportment, served utterly to 
alienate from her affections, — if she had any, — her new 
charge ; while the restrictions under wdiich the child was 
placed, schooled her in every deceptive artifice : though, 
as she grew up, she discovered by her own mother wit, 
that there were many ways of working one’s self into place 
and influence, not legitimately belonging to the properties 
of a high-souled woman. 

Prudence was too much like her mother, to obtain much 
love from the father. Her very name, — bestowed upon 
her by his better half,” — evei’ gave to him Vi calif rio 
when he heard it uttered ; for there is much in a name or 
a word — much in the harmony of the one, in the sound of 
the other, that excites agreeable or unpleasant emotions. 
A whole nation is influenced into suavity and gentleness of 
manners by its language. Even the celestial spheres win 
a charm from a musical appellation. Ciclo and il Paradiso 
attract to their distinguished glory the ear as well as the 
heart. 

Donald Lathmon’s second wife. — whom he called Lirio^ 


10 


CRIMORA. 


(the lily) — was for some days after the event we have 
described as well as could be expected.” 

The mother and father both blessed God for the precious 
gift of a child, and • offered up prayers for its health and 
goodness of heart. 

As soon as the mother could sit up and fold the little 
one to her bosom — clasp this little Lily to lilies — she 
earnestly solicited for it a pretty name. “ What will you 
call our sweet little Tot, dear Donald ? ” said she ; — 
certainly it is old enough to have a name, and sweet 
enough to have two ! ” 

Give it such a name as will please you best, for then I 
am sure it will please me,” replied Donald. Your 
mother called you Flora, but I chose to call you Lirio, be- 
cause you were to me a pure and definite beauty. The 
name of the child is one that you will almost momentarily 
repeat ; therefore it should be such as you fancy, one, 
however, that when spoken should have no harshness in it, 
but come in softness to the ear. Flora is pretty, and 
certainly dear to me, for it was by that I first welcomed 
and loved you. Would you not then, like to call her 
Flora?” 

No, no ; I could not think of giving her so common 
a name,” replied the mother. “ I Avould like to have one 
that is not only classic, but expressive of something — I so 
much dislike unmeaning names.” 

“ Well, my fair Lirio, name her as you will,” said the 
father. For my part I shall call her Tot ! — yes. Tot ! 
— our Tot ! — our dear little Tot ! ” and for many months 
Tot” she was called. 

II Lirio saw the bud unfolding day by day, yet without 


CRIMORA. 


11 


a name. One evening, however, with a bosom heaving 
with emotion, as she laid aside a volume of Ossian’s poems, 
she said to herself, — that name whispers to me her des- 
tiny ; it fixes itself in my mind, and as it is the Galic we 
so much love, it shall be hres, — foreshadowing, emblematic 
— hers it must be: — Aluine Lorma ! Aluine (alona), 
exquisitely beautiful^ Lorma, the loving ^ 

As Flora Lathmon finished these exclamations, Donald 
entered the room. He was met by his wife, who threw 
her arms about his neck, and told him of the name she 
had determined on, expecting him to receive the news as 
joyfully as she had communicated it. 

“ It is a sweet and pretty name,” said Donald, smiling, 
though there was evidently a tinge of sadness in his ex- 
pression. 

Still,” said Flora, I fear you do not quite like it.” 

Yes indeed I do like it,” said Donald with more afiec- 
tion, “ for it sounds of our own hills ; and Aluine is 
expressive of that loveliness I know the child wdll inherit 
from her mother. Lorma ^ however, you remember was 
the wife of Erragon ; yet as deep earnestness and fidelity 
are such noble traits in any character, it did not fail to 
make sacred her love for Aldo, — and in that light may 
not be inexpressive of what we wish our own child to be. 
Crimora, which signifies, a ivoman of a great soul^ is, how'- 
ever, the name 'we must ever pray that she may be worthy 
to bear, though we .will call her by the sweet ones of your 
choice.” 

The little Tot now stood out in the world with a name, 
and grew apace, and all who saw her longed to possess 
her. She was surpassingly lovely, but of a temperament 


12 


C R I M 0 K A . 


bordering so much on the retiring and melancholy, that 
many thought it portended a sad and mysterious history. 
She elicited at all times and places unbounded admiration ; 
but if for it she was much indebted to ‘her natural amiabil- 
ity, no less was due to her education. She was not spoiled 
by flattery nor indulgence. Pure parental love, sincerity, 
truthfulness, and a high purpose ever in viev^, directed her 
steps. Did she love flowers ? Yes, passionately, but not 
Botany. Did she love minerals and shells ? Yes, much, 
but not Mineralogy nor Conchology. Did she love birds ? 
Yes, if they were pretty and gentle, and sang well, and 
she loved Ornithology, because it tells of the habits of 
those little feathered spirits,’’ she used to say, who have 
sorrows, and joys, and loves like my own.” Indeed, she 
loved deeply every thing that was pure, chaste, beautiful 
and good, while — though it could not be said that she 
hated anything — she instinctively shrank from every ob- 
ject which did not bear the stamp of refinement. She be- 
came suddenly s^^d and dejected when compelled to view 
any thing awry with nature, — that was harsh, hypocritical 
or vulgar. She would often ask her parents such ques- 
tions as these : “ If our Maker is sp good, why does he 
permit his creatures to suffer from hunger and destitution ? 
Why do people ever quarrel ? Why do they go to war ? 
Why do not the birds associate more with us ? — for they 
must know we would not hurt them ; and why does not 
God take all children to himself, while they are innocent 
as He made them ? ” 

“ My dear Aluine,” the good mother would reply — and 
always with profound reverence when she touched on what 
she supposed to be a sacred subject — ^‘the first man 


CRIMORA . 


13 


sinned, and thus brought darkness and tribulation upon the 
whole human family.” 

And was it not very cruel, mother,” the little one 
would ask with the most earnest look, to make us all 
suffer — so many millions as you say there are on the earth 
— just because he chose to be naughty himself? ” 

It was so, indeed,” responded the mother with tender- 
ness, and so God in his goodness, to redeem the world 
from the fearful consequences of Adam’s transgression, 
gave His only Son up to a bitter death.” 

And was not that cruel, too ? ” replied Aluine, whose 
heart and eyes were overflowing with sympathy ; I won- 
der why the good God who sees everything, when he saw 
Adam was going to do wrong, did not prevent him, and 
thus save you, dear mother, and all of us, from unhappiness, 
and save his own Son, too ? ” 

My child ! my child ! it is a great mystery ; but He 
is good, and you will know all hereafter. I cannot myself 
see, why depriving one of a free will to do evil, would not 
have been t)etter than the. allowing of a trifling error to 
enthrall the race, and entail on unborn myriads of immor- 
tals eternal punishment,' — and for that, too, in which they 
were not participants.” 

To the lovely Lorma this was in truth a strange mys- 
tery, while her mother’s injunction, to be good,” was 
wholly unnecessary, as she did not know how to do or 
think anything that was evil. To be sure, when she saw 
the burly priests gathering in the pence from the poor, she 
manifested an acuteness of contempt which the most casual 
observer would have paused to contemplate ; yet she 
wished them no harm, and seemed to feel more disgust for 
9 


14 


CRIMORA. 


the act, than the actors. If, however, the character of 
the latter had been to her as readable as the foraier, a 
transfer in some of her thoughts would have taken place ; 
for, whenever the poor approached her, their looks were 
responded to, before their lips could breathe their wants. 
One day, when arrayed in a costly frock — the good taste 
of a doting parent — a frock of pure white, which made 
her look like one of the bnght angels our imaginations 
often picture in the heavenly choir — a man with a white 
cravat, and an austere and puritanic face, took occasion to 
talk to her on the vanity and folly of such a ‘‘ sinful rig,” 
as he called it. She immediately flew to her mother to 
ask an explanation, for only yesterday,” said she, ‘‘ I 
gave all the money I had to poor Margaret, from whom 
this same man took his church rates — leaving her without 
a penny.” 

We must try and think that the man is good,” said 
the interrogated, though it is hard on Margaret, who, 
though she has forty acres of land rented to her, is 
devoured by taxes, and is miserably poor. She pays 
four pounds sterling to government, eight pounds for poor 
rates, and seven pounds ten shillings to the church, which 
has brought her and her family to^ the very dust. The 
man you speak of probably felt that he was doing his 
duty — which includes all moral obligations — but which 
an enlargement of his understanding would have shown to 
be just the reverse ; for no oppression can be justifiable in 
the sight of heaven. Humanity and mercy are golden 
keys to the portals of il Paradisoy 

Ah, mother! a man who has no heart to guide him in 
his duty is not fit for heaven, for he cannot be good ; and 



CRIMORA. 


15 


if he goes I cannot live there with him. Such a man 
would say, that the plumage of the angels is too delicate, 
(and she recalled what ^ the clergyman had said to her) ; 
that the golden harps are too gaudy ; that the precious 
stones in the gates are too valuable for such a setting, and 
that all the songs of joy are a mockery of the solemn and 
gloomy visage he had^borne through life. 0 mother! do 
not talk to me of such people ‘ soaring on the wings of 
faith to heaven,’ if you do, I fear I shall have no 
^desire to go hence ; but when you speak of the har- 
mony and affection there is there — that all is love and 
charity, and that there is no discord there — then I long 
to go Avith you and father, and wander in those bright 
fields where celestial flowers know no fading.” 

Such a region as Aluine last spoke of, was the only one 
really suited to her nature. When abroad in her own 
father’s fields, beside their streams and flowers, Avhen gaz- 
ing on the distant hills robed in the last rays of the setting 
sun, no being could have been more devoutly happy than 
she was. So full was her swelling soul of the glory of all 
that Avas round about her, she would sometimes stretch 
forth her white arms as though she longed to reach it, 
clasp it, and gather it all into her own pure and gentle 
bosom, where it would find a welcome and genial home. 

• Mother,” the fair girl would say, if the birds could 
sleep on the mountains while the light was about them, 
how gladly would I hold the sun from going down.” The 
mother did not understand her, but thought she referred 
to some interior light, and to innocence. “ And would it 
be wrong to kneel, mother, to these forests, Avhich, Avith 
this golden tint of evening on their heads, seemboAving to 


16 


CRIMORA. 


to the Deity? — or to the great rocks, mother, ^yhich, 
when I have hallooed to them in glad admiration, have 
taken my voice and echoed it louder and louder, upward 
and onward to heaven ? They say that I am beautiful. 
It is because you and all nature are beautiful. The Earth 
is beautiful, and thence beautiful flowers spring from her. 
I sometimes stay my hands from gathering her fragrant 
ofispring for fear of grieving her. Would not you grieve 
if she v^as to tear me from you ? 

This tenderness, this simplicity and aptness of thought, 
this natural and pure religion of the heart, constituted 
Aluine Lorma’s chief fascination, and never forsook her ; 
and though the sensuous, and austere formalist, denounced 
her actions, it was because she trusted to the sacred impul- 
ses of a lofty and pure nature with which her Maker had 
endowed her, and chose to follow its dictates, rather than 
the, often unmeaning, vulgar and unnatural, convention- 
alisms of society. Her soul was so refined, so artless, so 
full of love and adoration of her Creator and His beautiful 
works, she knew it could not lead her astray ; and though 
she possessed transcendant charms of person, they all 
paled before the light of her divine spirit, which sometimes 
with an unearthly splendor burned in her large lustrous 
eyes — eyes into which no mortal could gaze without 
feeling an earnestness for heaven. 

Advancing now towards womanhood, the epithet, fasci- 
nating, which had been applied to the lovely Lorma, was 
more than ever applicable ; for to all that, vvith which she 
w^as naturally endowed, was added the graces of a highly 
cultivated intellect. The w’eak and imbecile shrank from 
the thought of scrutinizing her mental calibre, while they 


CRIMORA . 


17 


adored and drew near. The vicious quailed before her 
gaze, yet revering her, sought to follow afar off. The im- 
pure stood abashed, and r^her pleaded for mercy than 
scoffed. Those of lofty sentiments — wearing an impress 
of nature’s nobleness — experienced in her society a pecu- 
liar transanimation, an undefined harmony and concord of 
feeling, which wafted them along through unmarked hours, 
as over fields of flowers. 

2 * 


18 


C RIM OK A. 


CHAPTER II. 

As we shall have considerable to say of one Mr. Smith- 
ers — John Knox Calvin Smithers — let ns give a brief 
account of his birth, education, habits, and progress, up to 
the time we find him planning to wrest from an Italian in- 
valid, the wealth designed for a more worthy object. 

In one of the narrowest and dirtiest streets ; in one of 
the smallest and dirtiest houses in Glasgow ; on a morning 
so cold, and chilly, and cheerless, that the mildest tem- 
pered baby imaginable would have been badly influenced 
by the apparent inhospitableness thus thmst upon its ten^ 
der sensibilities, — young John Knox Calvin Smithers 
opened his insignificant eyes on creation. What his first 
impressions were we have not learned, but we think oufs 
would have been — that a little more light and luxury in 
our apartment, a little less of poveii:y and pinching want, 
would have added materially to our comfori and con- 
science. 

John Smithers, the elder, was at this time a very poor 
man — keeping in the front part of his house a small shop, 
where, by toys and toil, he succeeded in creating life and 
wearing it out. He was also a religious man — religious 
in the Calvinistic sense of the word, and so rigid and formal 
that he would have rather seen on a Sabbath morning the 
entire populace gathered around the stake of a martyr, 


0 R 1 M 0 R A . 


19 


than to have had a re viler of his creed live unpunished. 
He was so exact in his family, that no member of it dared 
to err himglingly ; this caused them to be astute, decep- 
tive, watchful, intriguing. 

On the Sabbath, J ohn Knox Calvin was whipped to the 
Sabbath School, and whipped if he was faulty in his cate- 
chism ; while during week days, from the time he could 
well go alone, he was made to tend the shop. In this last 
vocation he was particularly instructed to watch the cus- 
tomers, to see if they stole anything ; and though he might 
not have detected any one pilfering, his mind was strongly 
impressed with the idea that the people generally were un- 
trustworthy, if not actually villains, and that it was neces- 
sary to regard them lynx-eyedly ; while there could be but 
little virtue in abstaining from driving with them the best 
possible bargain, by every possible means. 

The training young Smithers thus had, prepared him 
thoroughly to cope with the world, and before he left his 
father’s shop, there had been broad cast upon his heart, all 
the seeds of chicanery allowed to germinate within the 
pale of the law. 

Ambition, knowledge of the world, confidence in his 
own capacities, induced John Knox Calvin, at an early 
age, to proceed to London, and commence trading on his 
own account. His plans thrived according to his most 
sanguine expectations, which proved the shrewdness of his 
calculations. Close attention to business won for him 
money ; and a strict observance of all the exterior, soul- 
less forms of religion, a corresponding amount of respect. 
He, however, who noticed particularly this young man, 
saw in his furtive unconfiding glance, something that be- 


20 


CRIMORA. 


tokened no response to the sacred mandate, Love one 
another.” 

As I have said, Smithers was one of the most punctual 
of church-goers ; and to this fact the attention of a young 
lady was called by her aunt, who sat near him in the tem- 
ple of the Lord. Prudence,” said she, on leaving the 
sanctuary, that is a most proper and good young man. 
I’ll be bound to say, for he is ever punctual in this holy 
place ; and his responses are so audible ; and I learn — 
for I have particularly inquired about him — that he is in 
excellent business, and that his hand and heart are free.” 

His hand and heart may be free, for aught I care,” 
responded the young lady addressed — Miss Prudence 
Christian Lathmon — with contemptuous pertness ; for 
what have I to do with tradesmen ? ” 

“ It is true,” said the dame, it would be well to look 
higher ; but then you are fast reaching womanhood, and no 
suit has yet been pressed ; then, again, your father has 
another wife and child, who control him as they will ; so 
from that source you cannot expect much favor or fortune, 
a fact which should induce you to be less tenacious of the 
position your birth most justly entitles you to.” 

‘‘ But I would die, rather than marry a tradesman ! ” 
exclaimed Prudence, while her eyes flashed indignation. 

To be proud is not a Christian virtue,” responded the 
aunt, meekly, and certainly, after all the example you 
have had set before you, you should be a pattern of humil- 
ity and propriety. And be assured. Prudence, it is much 
better to marry a tradesman with money ^ than a coxcomb 
or younger brother without it. With the former you can 
set up your establishment ; and what with your piety and 


CRIM.ORA. 


‘ 21 

known respectability, can carry full sw^ay over the whole 
end of the town in which you may reside.” 

To be respectable^ is, I admit,” said Prudence, soften- 
ing in her asperity, a very high consideration ; but we 
need not talk of these things now.” 

The truth was, the aunt had become weary of the young 
vixen, and wished to get rid of her ; and to this end had 
already arranged affairs, so that Smithers should be pre- 
sented. Smithers, in the mean time, puffed up by the fa- 
vor shown to him, really began to imagine himself good- 
looking, and finally to fancy himself in love. 

One accustomed to contemplate a height, becomes so 
familiar with it, that to reach its summit appears far more 
easy to him, than it does to one who looks on it for the first 
time ; so John Knox Calvin Smithers, so constantly con- 
templated a marriage in high life — so intently fixed his 
ambitious gaze on an elevated position in society, that he 
felt himself prepared to take any stride, or any number of 
steps, how’ever gauehement^ to reach it. 

Smithers’ tact in discovering the weak points of those 
with whom he conversed, — his natural shrewdness, and his 
conviction of the necessity of making available, and to the 
utmost, every vantage ground allowed at any point — 
gained for him triumphs few could have anticipated. In 
this case, however, of lady Prudence, there Avas* working 
in his favor a negative influence, which. escaped the obser- 
vation of but few ; and that was, the absence of all other 
admirers of the object of his ambitious choice. 

On the part of Prudence Christian Lathmon — that 
which had the greatest influence with her under the bless- 
ing of her aunt, was Mr. Smither’s respectability ; for the 


22 


CRIMORA. 


old lady would say : He has no family name to boast of, 
it is true ; but then he is so respectable.’’ That is, — he 
attended divine service regularly, and conformed strictly 
to the externals of the sectj with all the hypocrisy he was 
an adept in from long practice. 

The interview, — shrewdly planned by the aunt, — 
opened a way to Smithers, which he knew w^ell how to 
avail himself of; and pushing his suit to extremities, 
brought about a marriage, before the lady hardly knew 
who the gentleman was, — except that he claimed to be a 
very respectable man, and on the high road to wealth. 
The wedding was a brilliant one, (we shall have occasion 
to refer hereafter to some parties who enjoyed it,) and the 
respectable Mr. Smithers and his new bride, in a respecta- 
ble mansion, in a respectable part of London, seemed 
starting as fairly as most couples do, for the goal of happi- 
ness. 

The first plan Mrs. Smithers proposed to herself, was, 
to adopt a species of hauteur towards her neighbors ; so 
that if any of them did court her society, she could dictate 
the terms of their acquaintanceship, — the essentials being 
an untainted reputation, a thoroughly religious (sectarian) 
bias, and an uncompromising opposition to all that did not 
accord with her notions of what was right, even to the 
minutiae and trivialities of social life. If she took upon 
herself the privilege of passing over any minor points, it 
was to indicate her condescension, rather than her coun- 
tenance of them. 

Besides Mr. and Mrs. Smithers, there was in the do- 
mestic arrangements of the new home, a maid of prepos- 
sessing appearance, if not accredited as a decided beauty. 


CRIMORA. 


23 


In form and features, and some peculiarities of character, 
she was the antipodes of her mistress, and would under 
favorable circumstances have been an ornament to society. 

Thus constituted, the family of Mr. Smithers continued 
for a time — he attending to the business, and. Mrs. 
Smithers to the respectability of the establishment. No 
offspring blessing their married state, the lady was quite 
inconsolable, as she could not enjoy the respectable an- 
nouncement in the newspaper, of having given birth to a 
fine son. The mortification, however, accruing from this 
misfortune was soon shrouded by one of a deeper dye, and 
that home to which she would have sacrificed everything 
to give it a highly respectable name^ was undermined at its 
deepest foundation. 

Repelled by the bad temper, meddlesome, querulous dis- 
position, hypocrisy, and bigotry of his spouse, and attract- 
ed by the fair proportions and sprightly mein of the maid, 
Mr. Smithers stepped from the latitude and longitude of 
rectitude as laid down on the chart of his Sunday creed, 
and rendered himself liable to have his mask of assumed 
virtue at any time demohshed, and the bare, hideous face 
of his true character exposed to the world. 

‘‘ Mr. Smithers,” said Mrs. Smithers, one day, as her 
husband rose from the dinner table, at which an unusual 
silence had been observed, I cannot, and will not, any 
longer endure the insolence and impudence of Miss Wel- 
lington, as you call her ; ” and the fire of a thousand fu- 
ries burned under the speaker’s projecting eye-brows. 

Instead of aiding she thwarts me,” continued the wife. 

She looks at me contemptuously, and sometimes hints 
that I dare not say a word against her to you. She even 


24 


CRIMORA . 


assumes of late the right to dictate in the house ; and, 
between you and me, sir,” — and here she gave her 
writhing husband a most searching look, — I begin 
to mistrust that she is not quite so respectable as might 
be,” 

“ Indeed ! ” exclaimed Mr, Smithers, you overwhelm 
me with astonishment;” and he grew alternately red and 
pale, as hopes and fears came and -went, respecting Miss 
Wellington’s imprudence S exposing his peccadillos, In- 
deed you cannot really xliink so. Prudence, for you know 
that she is always circumspect, proper, and devotional. 
In truth, dear Prudence,” — and he assumed a more af- 
fectionate tone, though confusion and shame were evidently 
striving to get the ascendancy of the habitual meanness of 
his face, — ‘‘you must be mistaken, for she is always at ' 
home, and under our own eye ; and we should certainly 
know if she w^as guilty of the slightest impropriety ; — 
your own natural quickness of perception would have dis- 
covered — ” 

“ Yes, that is it, Mr, Smithers ! ” replied Mrs, Smith- 
ers, vehemently ; — “ that is it ! my natural quickness of 
perception has discovered something which amounts to a 
conviction. Did I not discover that Mrs, Timlinson had a 
lover, long before her husband knew it ? And did I not, 
as I ought, ruin the family by promulgating it throughout 
our end of the town ? ” 

“ But that ‘ lover,’ you recollect, Mrs. Smithers,” re- 
plied the husband meekly, “ proved to be her brother ; but 
as the mischief was done, you could not remedy it.” 

“ Pretty well, Mr. Smithers,” retorted the wife ; “ and 
do you think I’m going to countenance even the appear- 


CRIMORA. 


25 


ance of evil ? Not I ! Did not Miss Siblings appearance 
make us think that she went early to the Sabbath-school to 
teach, whereas, by my watching, did I not discover that 
she went by a private door to the vestry, to see the minis- 
ter ? And did not the whole church ever after that look 
on me as a true shepherd to the flock ? — and was not I 
put at once on the committee of vigilance by our Ladies^ 
Look- After-Hmbands' -Morals Society? Indeed, I should 
be greatly defective in duty if I neglected any opportunity 
of knowing the private doings of every person, and, if not 
right, to denounce them ; for how else am I to keep my- 
self from contamination, and our circle respectable ? ’’ 

“ Judge not that ye he not judged^ Mrs. Smithers, is as 
important an injunction as any your society may advocate, 
— a mandate as necessary to observe — as imperious as 
the church -rules ; than break which you would prefer to 
break your own neck and your neighbor’s ; ” and here Mr. 
Smithers, though he had spoken in a solemn manner, threw 
a little sarcasm into his tone, for he began to see the ne- 
cessity of preparing the way, and smoothing the sea over 
which he was to make his own escape. 

0, Mr. Smithers ! are you, too, turning infidel ? 
Would you, and would you have me, break those rules by 
which we have pledged ourselves to be governed ? ” and 
the lady looked towards the ceiling. 

My expressions, dear Prudence,” responded Mr. 
Smithers, ‘‘ do not imply any such wish, but I would have 
you more observant of those of higher origin.” 

“ Then you think, Mr. Smithers, that I don’t know my 
duty, do you?” said the dear Prudence,” scornfully.* 
If I don’t, I think I shan’t ask you, — for you men are a 
3 


26 


CRIMOR A. 


pack of deceivers and hypocrites, and to the bottoms of 
your souls you hate all that is pure and just, and ‘ roll 
wickedness under ycfur tongues like a sweet morsel.’ Our 
neighbor Testor, for instance, I have particularly noticed, 
never has any serving maids in his house who are not 
pretty ; and after they have lived there awhile they ap- 
pear out in silk dresses, and flaunt away as gaily as their 
mistress. There is neighbor Substance, too, — what is he 
off so much for ? And his wife, (whose acquaintance I 
have cut, from the suspicious circumstance that she would’nt 
tell me the name of the man who walked to church with 
her one Sunday, though I asked her the direct question) 

— his wife, I say, (and people don’t keep secrets when 
there’s no evil to conceal), is as mum as a mouse, sly as a 

linx, — takes advantage of his absence, and I’ll spread 

it abroad, — I’ll see if our neighborhood is to be one of 
scandal ! ” 

Dear Christian Prudence,” replied Mr. Smithers, — 
partly with a desire to allow his better half to breathe, and 
partly to ease himself down from the position of respecta- 
bility from which he expected to be suddenly pulled, and 
which had ever been the ambition and the hobby of Mrs. 
Smithers, — is there not some injunction of this character 
in the Bible : ‘ Love thy neiglibor^as thyself^ ? ” 

You provoke my very soul of patience out of me, you 

— all at once — pious John Knox Calvin Smithers,” re- 
torted Mrs. Smithers, in frothing fury ; and I should’nt 
wonder if Miss Wellington’s hints had some significance — 
the jade ! She shall leave the house immediately, or I 
will.” 


CRIMOR A. 


2T 


Mr. Smithers, if he had been a real Christian, would 
have felt much mortified at such religion as his wife pos- 
sessed ; if he had been an honorable man — • as the term is 
— he would have solved a mystery portentous of much 
disturbance. As it was, and "knowing that every oppro- 
brious epithet could justly be bestowed upon him, he seized 
his hat, at the first calm in the tempest, and rushed from 
the house — truly burdened with his own miscreancy, and 
with a detestation of his respectable ’’ better half. He 
also began to entertain an aversion to Miss Wellington. 
The feeling astonished him, but he did not stop to analyze 
it. The fact was, he Jacked soul, character, alfection, and 
could not know their value had he discovered them in 
others. Miss Wellington was a mystery to him, and had 
gained great ascendancy over him, but had net discretion 
enough to avoid the assumption of certain airs that could 
not but lead to most disastrous results : — exposure and 
consequent mortification of the very man it was her inter- 
est to uphold in his position, however false might be the 
basis on which he stood. 


23 


C R I M 0 R A . 


CHAPTER III. 

Aluine was just fifteen years of age on the night when 
her half-sister was married to Mr. Smithers. She had 
been invited to the wedding, because she had put herself 
forward, and always exerted herself, to establish and main- 
tain an intimacy with her young relative, — the unpleas- 
antness of whose position had been mainly afiected by her- 
self, though unwittingly and unavoidably. She had always 
sustained a friendly correspondence, and sent to her many 
tokens of her sisterly love ; and it would have wounded her 
most deeply to have been neglected on so important an oc- 
casion — important in more respects than one, and to more 
than one. Oh! on what simple events — on what seem- 
ing insignificant casualties, hang our destinies ! The wing 
of the smallest insect that floats in the air may bear us to 
a throne or beggar 'us forever ! 

A large company had already assembled, when Aluine 
was set down at Mr. Smithers’s. Requiring none of the 
arts of the toilet, she entered at once the saloon — from 
all sides of which arose a murmur of admiration, interest, 
and wonder. 

She is surprisingly fair,’^ said an elderly lady, who no 
longer feared a rival. 

“ She is transcendantly bewitching ! ” said a youth who 


C9IM0RA, 


29 


thought he could love her, and a thousand more just like 
her. 

She is a perfect angel ! ” said a sweet-tempered girl, 
who intuitively perceived in the dimpled, dove-like delicacy 
and fair brow of the new comer, unalloyed goodness. 

She affects too much simplicity ! That artlessness is 
all feigned ! * I do not believe in it ! spoke a pert Miss, 
who Avas suffering woefully by comparisons. 

I must knoAV her ! ” said an elegantly dressed, portly 
gentleman, with much vehemence, for she is the first 
specimen of the feminine gender I have ever seen to whom 
I should be willing to kneel ! ’’ 

In a corner of the room, leaning against a column that 
supported a bust of Columbus, stood a foreigner, whose 
eyes dilated, darkened, and for an instant seemed filled 
with supernatural light, as those of the truly ^angelic 
Aluine caught their earnest gaze — then swam in a sea of 
tears, Avhich the involuntary gushings of his soul sent up 
unbidden. A moment aftenvards, the same young man 
might have been- seen seated alone, in a retired corner of 
the garden, Avith both hands pressed firmly to his bosom as^ 
he muttered to himself : Be still ! It must not be ! I 
must not see her again ! Yet, 0 yet ! she is the true, the 
real impersonation of that dear vision which has floated 
through my dreams from childhood !” 

It is evident,” said a AA^oman with a scanty show of 
hair, and a coarse skin, that our fastidious Italian is jiot 
fascinated by that lump of ivory, for he left the room im- 
mediately after she entered.” 

What,” said a dingy looking old aunt to the half sister, 

can be the possible use in the Avorld of such a creature 

■ 


80 


CRIMOR^A. 


as Miss Aluine Lorma, as they call her ? They say she is 
an able and apt scholar, and that her head is full of the 
most sound knowledge ; but w^ho can believe it ? Is it not 
a proverb that ‘ beauty has no other excellence ? ’ Then 
again, she’s so delicately made, that if she should marry 
poor, — and most likely she will, for >vhat man of %en%e 
would have her ! — and be obliged to milk ^ coav or sweep 
a chamber, it would throw her into a nervous fever. And 
probably now she is more indebted to dress than to any 
thing else for the sensation she has created ; for who 
wouldn’t look well all in white, with such a low neck to the 
dress, and bare arms, and skirts heavy wdth the richest of 
lace ? When I was young I wouldn’t have given in to 
her in good looks, I know ! ” 

The elegantly dressed portly gentleman mentioned above, 
was Mr. Bonarges Jones, — a man of large fortune, and 
large pretensions, and wdthal, a good-natured man, wdiom 
almost every one liked. He immediately solicited and ob- 
tained an introduction to Miss Lathmon, and during the 
whole evening so pressed upon her his attentions that she 
had little time or opportunity to receive the homage many 
others were prepared to extend to her. 

Mr. Bonarges Jones, being a man of leisure, knew all 
London, — that is, all worth knowing. His father and his 
interests had associated him with the mercantile commu- 
nity, while his wealth secured him a place among the 
higher classes. He was personally acquainted with all the 
guests, with one exception, and that one was the only indi- 
vidual concerning whom the bright jewel on his arm made 
any inquiry. 


C R I M 0 R A . 


31 


“ A handsome, unoffending youth, I doubt not,” replied 
Mr. Jones to Aluine’s interrogations — probably a for- 
eigner — an artist, perhaps, from Italy ; ” and not wishing 
to show any lack of courtesy towards the one to whose 
every wish he was trying to devote himself, he sought Mr. 
Smithers and begged of him the pleasure of being present- 
ed to the stranger. 

What on earth are you doing here, my young fellow?” 
said Smithers to the Italian whom he slapped on the 
shoulder, much to the chagrin and astonishment of the 
guest, who had been approached unawares, so lost was he 
in a vital reverie. “ Do you not have enough of looking at 
the moon from the gorgeous terraced gardens of your native 
land, without occupying your time about it, in my poor 
grounds, and through the smoky Rir of this matter-of-fact 
London ? — at the very moment, too, when the most swan- 
like, moonlight-like, gauze-like creature in our happy 
assembly is asking after you ? ” 

Indeed ! ” exclaimed the youth, starting up as though 
• he had been shot at, asking for me ? But you will ex- 
cuse me. Sir,” he added, after a moment’s pause, ‘‘ you 
vail, I trust, pardon me for — deserting you, as I had a 
severe pain in the side, and thought, by coming to the cool 
air, it would soon be better.” [He intended to have ex- 
cused himself from again returning to the saloon, but 
another spirit besides his own drew him thitherward.] 
‘‘You said some one inquired about me. I am sure that 
there is no one in that brilliant throng of your charming 
countrywomen who cares particularly for my acquaint- 
ance ; or if so, it is but the passing tribute of respect one 


32 


CRIMORA. 


is naturally inclined to pay to a stranger: or else, per- 
chance, for the mere novelty of knowing a foreigner ! ” 

‘‘Well said! Well said 1 ” responded Smithers, as he 
drew the young man towards the house. “ You do justice 
to your schooling — you speak like a native. Your good 
father, with whom I have done business for some years, 
and who placed you a little under my surveillance, yoi^ 
know, while getting your education here, Avill, I believe, 
give me some credit for your advancement ; but I cannot 
admit of this diffidence you manifest, and which astonishes 
me ; — the more, as I have always heard that you Italian 
gentlemen are ever forward to excess ; aye, even to down- 
right impudence, where th^ladies are concerned: so come 
along, — I’ll not be refused.” 

“ Oh ! ” said the youth to himself, as unconsciously lean- 
ing on the arm of ^mithers he retraced his steps, “ would 
that I could escape the ordeal through which I know my 
heart is to pass I I am already betrothed to another at the 
instance of my father, and yet, until this evening, I have 
never seen the one I could love, — the one who has irrevo-* 
cably chained me ; — the one who, without speech or ges- 
ture, ha^ enveloped my soul wdth such a halo of her owm, 
that she has become the atmosphere in which I must re- 
volve, and through which alone all objects must henceforth 
be seen. Were I a Fatalist, I should now feel a treble 
conviction of the truth of my faith. The Future lays open 
to me her fearful volume, and in it I read of strange vicis- 
situdes — acts which task the heart to its utmost powders 
of endurance, involving my whole soul’s happiness or mis- 
ery. Mr. Smithers is superstitious. Superstition usually 
arises from ignorance or guilt. If I tell him what leaf in 


4 


CRIM ORA. 


33 


the book of my destiny he is turning over, he will call it 
‘ second sight ’ — will shun me, or proclaim me a mad 
astrologer. But Oh ! how true it is that the invisible is 
often seen by us, and the future becomes present ! How 
true it is that souls commingle and sweep on together 
towards eternity, though their tenements are widely separ- 
ated ! We may not solve the mystery; — it is one of 
God’s great and secret truths ! ” 

Absorbed in such thoughts, which he had unintentionally 
proclaimed aloud, the Italian, not daring to lift his eyes 
where his heart already was, stood before the lady who had 
asked after him. 

‘‘ Allow me, pretty sister,” said Mr. Smithers, the 
pleasure of presenting to you Senor Fiello Alfierdermo, 
of Genoa. He is the son of a wealthy merchant whom I 
deal with, and is here now obtaining an education. Mr. 
Jones, I will leave him with you, and trust you will not let 
him escape again.” 

Alfierdermo, bending gracefully to Aluine, took her 
hand, and tremblingly raising it to his lips, imprinted on it 
a kiss. If Aluine felt a thrill along her nerves, even to the 
ends of her sweet little toes, the brain of Alfierdermo was 
a maddening chaos — a wild and happy delirium — a tran- 
sition from earth to heaven — a world of ecstacy crowded 
into his heart’s span — a whole life of • ecstatic beatitude 
into a moment of poor earthly existence. Did any one 
speak to him ? Did Aluine say, I am happy in your 
presence ? ” He did not know. He heard nothing, saw 
nothing. He was in a trance. Through those rosy taper 
fingers there rushed to his head a tempest of pearly 
thoughts — an infinity of golden-winged fancies"; but 


S4 


CRIMORA. 


through the same soft rosy fingers all consciousness of sep- 
arate self-existence, with reason itself, seemed to escape 
him. By and by he thought he heard a low voice breath- 
ing at his ear, I am happy!” and then, Fly 1 fly a 
fate so full of wo 1 ” Soon, however, he was aware of 
several persons speaking at the same time, and of his being 
led to an open window. He is faint,” said one. Lead 
himio the air,” said another. He is pale as death,” 
said a third ; and even more beautiful in his illness than 
he was when I first saw him, and thought him divine like 
our Saviour,” said a fourth. The next morning Alfier- 
dermo found himself in his own apartments ; but how he 
came there he knew not. He had, however, made up his 
mind to return at once to Italy. 

Mr. Jones having obtained permission of Miss Lathmon 
to visit her at her father’s house, returned to his own with 
some new ideas of the value of life and sources of happi- 
ness ; resolving not to let escape him the feminine treas- 
ure so unexpectedly thrown in his way, and which, till 
now, had lain hidden among village rustics. 


CRIMORA. 


oo 


CHAPTER IV. 

0^ the eastern wall of the lofty battlements which sur- 
round the City of Genoa, stood a middle-aged gentleman, 
contemplating the far-stretching iJmVra — the valley of 
the Besagno just beneath him — the climbing terraced hills 
and the blue valleys on his left. He wore a citizen’s dress, 
but his air was that "of a military man ; and though he was 
evidently a native of the north, his face was browned by 
the suns of a southern clime. 

This is my dear, my own beautiful native land ! ” 
exclaimed the stranger — and large tears rolled down his 
cheeks. Whether the charming coup d'^ceil — the idea 
that he should never behold it again — or the remembrance 
of one dear but lost to him, affected him most, we know 
not ; but either was sufficient of itself to flood both his 
heart and his eyes. “ But,” continued he, after a pause 
and a long drawn sigh, it is best that I should leave 
thee ! * Whenever fate lands me in these regions, to this 
spot I am irresistibly impelled ; for it was here I first saw 
my Stella, and it was here she first confessed her love for 
me. Her admiration, too, of this enchanting landscape, 
became almost idolatry, and she soothed every sorrow 
in the belief that in one of these neighboring valleys she 
should live and die. 0 ! I did wrong to leave her ! It 
was a false step ambition impelled me to take, and now 


36 


C R I M 0 K A . 


ma^es me an exile ; for to break in at this time upon her 
tranquil life, would render two miserable, w^hile by the 
plan I have adopted, I place her above all want, and make 
her child — ah! the dear, little precious Saffi I — finally 
an heiress. It is the best I can do, I know^ ; so farewell all 
— ^my daughter, my native land 1 ’’ Overcome by his emo- 
tions, he leaned for a time against the parapet and wept 
like a child ; but as the sun sank behind the Apennines, 
^ he descended to the narrow streets of the town — sought 
his hotel and his couch, and through a sleepless night, 
thought only of once his — Stella and Saffi. When morn- 
ing came, the diligence for the north bore him from sunny 
scenes he was never again to revisit. 

If the stranger was sad in leaving all that was dear to 
him in the wdde, wide w'orld, he found some comfort in the 
belief that he should be daily, though unknown, blessed by 
the loved ones whom he had placed in affluent circum- 
stances ; never dreaming that they, too, were to see sor- 
row, deep and poignant, though Saffi’s, like the shadow of 
a swift winging bird, was to pass quickly away. 

Far up in one of the beautiful vallies, which the gentle- 
man we have just parted with w^as contemplating from the 
battlements, stood a solitary dwelling — not the abode of 
wealth and luxury, though not indicating great poVerty. 
On each side and back of it, for a considerable distance, 
were long trellace-work structures for the support of the 
vine — luxuriating in its native soil — while the foreground 
was adorned by a juvenile flower garden. 

‘‘ A lamb has gone astray ! Driving our flock a-field, 
this morning, one of our lambs went astray,’’ said the 
shepherd, as he entered the above mentioned habitation. 


CRIMORA . 


37 


followed by his fleecy charge ^ which, passing through the 
front room, huddled themselves together in a back apart- 
ment. But the good man did not say ivhich had gone 
astray, for it being the petted one, he knew the sadness 
such unwelcome news would awaken in the breasts of more 
than one occupant of his humble dwelling. 

Which, father, has gone astray ? ’’ said the little girl, 
Saffi, who, clinging to the ends of the red sash tied about 
the shepherd’s waist, looked up earnestly into his face. T 
always come out to meet you, father,” she continued, for 
I know when you have been out all the long day, you are 
glad to see me; — yes, and my Lula, too. OL! it 
must be my Lula ! my Lula that has gone, for you looked 
grave, and the little dear did not come skipping to meet 
me, as she always does ! Tell me quick, father ! ” 

‘‘ I hope it is not our pet,” said the mother, as she 
turned from a piece of broken mirror before which she had 
been carefully arranging her long dark hair ; for only 
last evening, the last thing I did after the Ave Maria^ was 
to wash the poor little thing till she was white as snow, 
and her silken .fleece soft enough for the maids of 
Cashmere.” 

It is even Lula ! ” said the shepherd, putting his hand 
on the head of the little child, who then turning towards 
the wall, burst into tears, and I suppose you will now be 
sullen for a whole week, and make me more trouble than 
ever, because a plaything has disappeared, v/hile you will 
care nothing for my loss — loss of a part of that which 
seems to be our only source of food and clothing. It is 
only one of many which have been taken from us this 
season,” continued he, though novr addressing his remarks 
4 


38 


CRIM OR A. 


to his almost disheartened wife, making us daily more 
and more poor, who were already nearly destitute ; — 
treading us into the earth, who w^ere just grovelling on its 
surface, while the rich heed not our distress ; — no, nor 
would they, our cry of agony ! ’’ 

But, Signor Bolaro,” replied the matron solemnly, 
God has been good in preserving our lives ; in granting 
us health to enable us to attend to our duties, and in be- 
stowing upon us this child, who has, till very lately, been 
the cause of bringing to us (you know I really believe 
this,) a home free of rent, and a promise of future wealth. 
Beware, Francisco Bolaro, of upbraiding Providence, lest 
the blessed Virgin depart from our hearthstones.” 

He has indeed been good,” responded Francisco, and 
I should not murmur. The subject of that child, however, 
always disturbs me. You say it was your husband’s, and 
that he went to the wars in Spain and was killed ; while I 
have reason to believe the father was a gallant ofiScer who 
deceived and deserted you ; and even now may be about 
these very regions taking an interest in your welfare.” 

Please let that pass, good Francisco, for we have often 
mentioned it to our mutual sorrow. Let us forget the 
wrong we may have done, and own that God is good, and 
has never forsaken you. Do you not remember how, when 
once passing through the defiles of the Abruzzi, the poor 
strangers you were conducting on to Naples were all mur- 
dered, while you escaped ? Did you not then confess His 
goodness, and for it, give all your gains to the good sisters 
of charity of the order of the Sacred Heart ? Have you 
forgotten the delivery which you called miraculous, when 
only last vfinter, in returning with your companions from 


CRIMORA. 


39 


Geneva, all, save yourself, were buried beneath an ava- 
lanche of the Alps ? You then said God was good, and 
on the night you reached home, you knelt with me beside 
this very bed, and vowed, for my sake, a silver candlestick 
to the Virgin. God is good ! and even little Lula will not 
be forsaken. No sparrow falls to the ground unnoticed ; 
fra Carlo said so on last Lord’s day. Then, too, my good 
mother always told me, ^ there was no sorrow that did not 
plant some seeds of goodness and even Lula’s going astray 
has brought to our hearts some pious reflections, and I feel 
that the blessed Virgin Mary is hovering about us, and 
does riot despise our lowly abode. Shame on me for utter- 
ing such a thought ! for was it not in a humble, dark place 
like this, that she gave birth to her own bright hopes, and 
filled the world with light? Holy mother, forgive thy 
erring children ! God is good ! He tempers the wind 
to the shorn lamb, and though ours was not shorn, yet she 
was so innocent she will not be forsaken. But, Francisco, 
you have not yet told me where you lost her.” 

It was somewhere along the valley we always traverse,” 
replied the shepherd ; and, I think, by the most rugged 
part of the cliffs. If she had descended to the left she 
would have exposed herself to view ; but she must have 
gone up, and is now probably breaking her neck among the 
rocks, or sleeps wearied .and distressed in some of their 
thousand caverns.” 

I know not why, Francisco,” said Stella, but there 
was something that seemed smiling through my heart when 
you said the lamb went up. Mark me, future events may 
reveal a moral in this, which something now to my mental 
vision faintly foreshadows. The sportive little Lula whom 


40 


CRIMORA. 


we mourn, felt, perhaps, a true, celestial joy, when from 
some lofty crag she looked down on the common-place 
ploddings of the herd. Perhaps, too, when we were gath- 
ering in our remaining few, which the gray of evening 
warned homeward, she was standing in the most golden 
light of day, where, too, she will welcome the glow of the 
morning a long hour before it can descend to us. When 
you say she has gone astray, it but seems to me that all 
else has gone astray, while she, mounting above the insipid- 
ities of the plain and low beaten tracks, can more clearly 
see the right, and by more expanded powers search out for 
herself a better home. You do not understand me, Fran- 
cisco, because I speak of a vision of the future, which this 
event only partially tjrpifies. Governed by customs and 
habits, and usages transmitted to us by those we were wont 
to venerate, we are little able to judge of the beatitude of 
those who have the boldness to break from the rough and 
thorny, though beaten paths of life, and move onward and 
upward as their superior intelligence — the native impulses 
of a great soul — the aspirations of a free and generous 
heart, may dictate.’’ 

‘‘ This comes of your early education, Stella,’^ replied 
Francisco, with a shake of the head. To me it is all 
mysticism, or if I do comprehend your words, they seem 
to be at variance with the general teachings oifra Carlo,^^ 

‘‘ I had indeed a superior teacher in the convent, and 
she often said I was an apt scholar ; but it was my first 
husband .” 

Say your first lover ^ if you please,” interrupted 
Francisco. 


CRIMOE A, 


41 


Well, well, God bless him ! My first lover it was who 
talked to me thus, and showed me how — though he admitted 
‘ fra Carlo to be a good man — it was for the interest of the 
f)riests to keep us blindfolded, lest, seeing the unnatural 
course we are often compelled to pursue, we should rebel 
in disgust, and, trusting to our own reason, spring at once 
to light and liberty.” 

“ As did our Lula, who ere this, I dare say, wishes she 
was housed with her companions, even in this lowly place,” 
responded Francisco, musingly. But Stella, tell me 
truly, if you have no suspicions of the manner or through 
whom came the rent and other favors we have received ? 
If you knew, it would enable me to ascertain why such have 
lately been withheld. I had a brother who went to Spain, 
too, and doubtless was, like your lover, killed there ; for 
it is now some years since, and no tidings of him have 
reached me. If he were alive, I , should almost think we 
were indebted to him for what we have enjoyed.” Here 
the montuno^ forgetting his question, w^as lost in those ut- 
tered thoughts which strode hard upon the heels of truth. 

When Francisco and Stella had finished talking, they 
found that Saffi had fallen asleep with her grief ; for on 
her cheeks were still resting large tears, while an occa- 
sional long-drawn sigh gave further evidence of a heart 
overcharged with sadness. 

4 ^ 


42 


C RIM ORA. 


CHAPTER V. 

Francisco Bolaro, whom I have introduced in the 
preceding chapter as returning with his fleecy charge from 
the valleys of the Apennines, was a poor shepherd ; — glad 
when his flock grew fat, and wool sold at a high price in 
the market ; — glad when the winters were not long, and 
spring opened early, and he was again a-field and saw his 
little lambs cropping the young, tender grass, bright and 
tender like themselves ; — - glad when returning at evening, 
the rose-tinted twilight betokened a fair morrow ; and 
usually happy when within his cottage door he found fresh 
fruit, good bread, and vino nostrale^ on the neatly covered 
table, awaiting his coming. But Francisco was not always 
contented, though many a peasant envied him his good 
looks, his manly bearing, his becoming garb, and his appa- 
rent prosperity. During whole hours, — aye, sometimes 
during whole days, he would, as he lay upon the ground or 
rested on some convenient rock, ponder over what he might 
have been if born under a lucky star — what he • could be 
with his natural powers of mind working, for instance, amid 
the charms of a high order of art. Yet the purity and 
loftiness of his own character so harmonized with the 
natural beauty and grandeur of all that was about him, 
had he, in such moods, been told that he was to leave all he 
had for so many years daily contemplated, to dwell in 


CRIMORA. 


43 


palaces in cities, he would have grown sick at the thought, 
and hesitated long ere he consented. When in his hap- 
piest moods, he would say to himself, — Think not, Fran- 
cisco, of a higher fortune, for bitterness often gathers in the 
cup of wealth, and degradation in a title. Supposing I 
lived in the frescoed halls of the rich marble palace of the 
Dorias, which, girded with its garden walks, looks out on our 
fair blue sea, I might think only of the decrepid hand and 
the gaunt form of old Antonio who painted them ; while 
novv", the ever-changing frescoes on the uncolumned arch 
above, fill me with a reverential awe of the Great Designer. 
In the city I shojild see richly carved stones and sculp- 
tured images piled up about me, and I should only think of 
the onan^ perhaps, whose genius was there displayed ; or of 
the owner of tliis chiseled wealth, and bear in my heart 
envy and covetousness ; but here in this wild glen, cliff on 
cliff, mountain on mountain — the walls of Nature’s great 
temple, all in their heavenward reachings — refer me at 
* once to the Almighty, and fill me with a happy humility 
and dependence. The air, too, I should breathe there, would 
be loaded with the exhalations of dirty streets and filthy 
sewers ; while here, I breathe the sweet breath of heaven. 
And what are the reflections of those who stop on velvet 
carpets ? Do they not say it is a rare fabric, and came 
from the ^ast, and cost so much the yard ? But here I 
cannot put my foot abroad, but I think of the good, great 
God who has carpeted the world. And while I step on 
the rich grass I feel how unworthy I am to mar its tender 
life ; and I instinctively turn aside when bright flowers are 
in my way, lest I should, in seeming presumptuousness-, 
crush out their breath and beauty.” 


44 


CHIMORA . 


Francisco’s onlj brother and relative (whom we will 
call Joseppo), had in the wars of Spain accumulated a 
large fortune. Few or none knew how he had been thus 
successful, though some of that class who always educe evil 
from good — who believe that there is wickedness in every 
act that is not proven to their minds to be positively holy — 
said it must be by robbery and plunder. This supposition, 
however, even in the absence of demonstrable evidence to 
the contrary, was not at all justifiable ; for Joseppo, as well 
as Francisco, had been piously educated by good Catholic 
parents, and well educated, comparatively speaking, and in 
consideration of their condition or rank. 

Joseppo Bolaro, on returning to his native Italy, invested 
a considerable portion of his gains in lands in the Val 
de Mazzara, for which he obtained the proper deeds ; 
but fearing the disturbed state of the country he passed 
over into England, where he secured the remainder of his 
fortune in the stocks of her bank. Little time, however, 
was allowed to him for the enjoyment of his wealth. The 
chilly, damp winds of the north, did not agree with him, 
and he resolved to retrace his steps — build a splendid 
mansion on the estate he had purchased (of which he had 
given his brother charge, though leaving him in utter igno- 
rance of the owner), and there pass the remainder of his 
days as quietly as circumstances would allow. 

‘‘ Man proposes, Grod disposes ! ” II Signor Joseppo, on 
the morning fixed for his departure, found himself suffering 
from a nervous fever ; but on the supposition that if he 
sent for a physician he should soon be hurried to the end 
of a drama, and be uUimamente noticed in a short para- 
graph among the obituaries of the day, he resolved to 


C R I M 0 R A . 


await the crisis alone ; or, in the event of a very unfavor- 
able turning, simply give notice to a gentleman with whom 
he had had some commercial transactions, who could afford 
to him such aid as might be requisite. 

Naturally suspicious and distrustful, the Italian procras- 
tinated, but being urged by his faithful servant (who was 
greatly alarmed at any slight illness his master suffered), 
to consult at least with some friend, he assented to his 
seeking out the merchant referred to above — who vfas no 
other than John Knox Calvhi Smithers himself. . 

Como estate^ amico Smithers ? ” said the sick man, 
rising up in bed as the merchant was announced. 

0, don’t speak to me in that hated Italian ! ” said 
Smithers, abruptly ; you are aware that I cannot endure 
it; and as you have been here long enough to know our 
language perfectly — even so that the most astute could 
not deceive you, (a close observer could have seen a devil 
lurking in the speaker’s eye — awakened at his falsehoods 
and evil designs), I trust you will converse with me in our 
good, old, honest English tongue.; for there is something 
substantial in it, like its people * — something always frank 
and hearty — for instance, how are -you, my good old 
boy ? ” and as though really glad to see him, Smithers 
grasped him warmly by the hand and expressed much sor- 
row at finding him thus prostrated. The whole of this 
scene was so unnatural to Smithers that it did not escape 
the observation of the Italian, who for an instant remained 
in wonder and doubt concerning its import ; a twinge of 
pain, however, recalled him to himself, and with his natural 
urbanity he attempted, in broken English, to apologiz;e for 
his state and conduct, 


46 


C R I M 0 R A . 


Pardon me, Mr. Smithers, my friend,’’ said Signor 
Joseppo, my brain is hardly clear enongh to make use of 
a language which is not my native one ; yet, as you dislike 
that of Italy, I wdll give you the best English I can com- 
mand. First of all, I beg you will excuse the trouble I 
have caused you, and allo^v me, as a stranger in the land, 
to throw myself upon your generosity ; — not that gene- 
rosity which involves the sacrifice of pounds and shillings, 
but the kindness and cordial sympathy of true friendship.” 

I am your devoted servant,” responded Smithers. 

‘‘Be seated near me, then,” said the Italian. Tell 
me if I look ill ; — shall I send for a physician, — and 
w^hat one ? ” 

‘^No,” replied Smithers; ^‘you do not look ill, — in 
fact, you look remarkably well, and did I not find your 
hand a little warm, I should say you never had been in 
better health since you came to tliis country. As for phy- 
sicians, do not send for any. They are a learned body of 
men, yet ignorant in their profession. Many of them are 
good naturalists, good .chemists, scientific men, but kill 
more than they cure with their nostrums. There are able 
and justly distinguished surgeons in our country, but when 
you talk of physicians — bah ! they are far inferior to old 
w^omen. Indeed, if your good old mother — but I beg 
your pardon, perhaps she is not old — w^as here (and here 
he uttered a good sentiment which seldom escaped him 
unless by mistake), she would do more for you by her 
mother’s love, her kindness — more for your health by 
her knowledge of you from childhood up — than all others 
in the world. Physician ! No, no ; do not have a phy- 
sician, — to-morrow you W'ill be well again. In a day 


C R I M 0 R A . 


47 


or two you will proceed on your journey, and the property 
you have left in my charge shall be well cared for, and 
the interest remitted to you annually.” 

You are too kind, Mr. Smithers ; but you know not 
how ill I am — how I burn — how my head throbs ; I niust 
•have a physician, or I shall soon die. My mother — Mary 
. Mother bless her ! — could and would save me were she 
here ; but alas ! she long ago was laid in the ‘ Campo 
Santo,’ beside my father, and I have now no relative living 
but a poor brother, to whose child I have bequeathed all 
my property,” was Bolaro’s reply. 

Indeed ! ” said Smithers, manifesting an excess of in- 
terest, which did not escape the Italian, but from which the 
speaker so soon recovered, that the impression it made was 
effaced, — only one relative living ! — and that person, — 
far away, I suppose ? ” 

Yes, he is in the Val de Mazzara, a poor shepherd.” 

Does he know you have this large property here in 
England?” continued Smithers. 

No, he knows nothing of it here, nor even that I own 
the very land he lives on, which I have given him charge 
of, and which I shall let him quietly enjoy while he lives.” 

Then he knows nothing of your property ? ” and there 
stole into Smithers’s mind the idea that it would be very 
easy to surreptitiously obtain the Italian’s wealth if he 
should happen to withdraw from this world ; and that, con- 
sidering the state of ignorance in which the relatives were 
left, they could not be considered as virtually deprived of 
anything by the loss and he mentally recited, — where 
ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise ; ” — a sentiment he 
was inclined to whistle over, as one remarkably good and 
exceedingly applicable to the present case. 


48 


C R I M 0 R A . 


‘‘ Not a syllable does he know ; and my papers, deeds, 
all — fool that I was ! I should have left them all with 
him ! — are so drawn that he who holds them can possess 
himself of my property. To avoid one evil (I will not 
name it), I risked everything in another, hardly thinking 
that the loss of the documents, theft, my death, anything, 
might bestow all my wealth upon strangers and villains ; ” 
and he looked searchingly at Smithers. But you will, — 
you^ who have been so kind to me, — you will restore them 
all to my brother, if anything should happen to me ? ” 
Some strange ideas seemed then to be casting a lurid light 
along the sick man’s brain ; he suddenly bade adieu to 
Smithers, begging him to-send a physician, and turned on 
his pillow to rest. 

‘‘ Be composed, my dear Bolaro,” replied Smithers ; 

I will do all you require, and if I can be of any present 
service to you, you may command me. To-morrow I will 
bring my own physician with me, and I doubt not in two 
days you will be -well.” 

But Smithers, as he took his leave, did doubt if the man 
would ever recover; and though he imagined that he 
should be shocked at the idea of wishing a fellow-mortal 
dead, he nevertheless hoped in his heart that Bolaro would 
.die. If he should die,” said Smithers to himself, as he 
moved almost unconsciously through the streets towards his 
home, he will leave his property in my hands, in which 
case I can use it till I discover who the heirs are ; and as 
they are in a foreign country it will take a long time to 
ascertain ; ” and he chuckled at the )dea, and convinced 
himself that it was all right that Bolaro should die, and that 
Bolaro’s wealth should be his — his by one of those for- 
tuitous events which men call good luck ; though he would 


CRIMORA. 


49 


have been very loth for any one to know how such good 
luck had happened to him. 

At that moment, in the humble cottage in the Val de Maz- 
zara^ sat Francisco Bolaro, little dreaming of the sorrows 
of his rich brother, reposing on the softest of beds in one 
of the best apartments in Fitzroy square ; not having the 
remotest conception that there could be in the whole 
circuit of the human family, one who could be so basely 
plotting against the prosperity of his poor inoffensive Saffii, 
and the life of his own brother. Had he known all this, it 
might have added to his despondency, though he would in 
his heart have thanked God that he was not rich. 

5 




50 


CRIMORA. 


CHAPTER VL 

A YEAR passed away, and Alfierdermo returned to Eng- 
land. Reaching London, he took lodgings in the most 
fashionable part of the town, ijesolved on trying the gaieties 
of the capital as an antidote to an aimless existence — an 
emiui which he found neither travel nor all the fascinations 
of his native land could dispel. 

On the evening of his arrival, Alfierdermo received a 
note from Mr. Smithers, soliciting the pleasure of his com- 
pany to a wedding festival. Thinking it a good opportu- 
nity by which to make a commencement in his new career, 
he accepted the invitation ; and wishing to pay his respects 
to his old friend’s family, he was early set down at that 
gentleman’s door. 

Mrs. Smithers was always the first to welcome visitors 
— to impress them favorably if she liked them, or put a 
damper on their ever presuming to call again if she disliked 
them. Alfierdermo. was received most coirdially. He had 
come opportunely, and the lady made use of his visit to 
allay some ill-feeling that existed between her and her 
husband, but which she could not wholly conceal — her 
looks being fierce, and her words bitter, whenever she re- 
ferred to him. During the course of her conversation, 
which she tried to make quite impre^$ej she several times 


CRIMORA. 


51 


referred to the hypocrisy and deceit of a person well known 
to them ; while the sinfulness of her neighbors — the 
iniquity that everywhere abounded, sending its pestiferous 
influence even into her sacred circle — she dwelt upon in 
dismal tones, though with looks of doubtful import. 

It is hardly gallant to say that the young Italian felt 
great relief when the carriage was announced, and Mr. 
Smithers descended to the parlor to take him away to the 
appointed place of festivity; but it was nevertheless so. 
On turning to take a momentary adieu of the lady, he no- 
ticed that the looks which were passing between her and 
her husband betokened war to the knife.” 

I hope now,” said Mr. Smithers, as they drove along 
the dark London streets, you have come to take up a 
permanent residence with us, and enter into the truly 
ennobling commercial life. 

No, Mr. Smithers, I have not,” said Alfierdermo ; 

for business is not suited to my taste — has no agree- 
ment with my education, habits of thought, or mode of life. 
My father was a poor boy, and took to business from 
necessity — the necessity at 'first of maintaining himself, 
which resulted in other necessities. There devolved upon 
him the care of an indigent mother, then that of his own 
growing family, whose standing in society became the 
bane of his existence ; for he believed it could oi^ly be 
established by wealth, and the trappings that are usually 
made to adorn this hollow, meagre, unsatisfying, soulless 
elmclieriaP 

“ Oh, oh. Signor Fiello! so perhaps you would give me a 
slap over another’s back, would you ? ” replied Smithers 
hastily. 


52 


CRIMORA . 


‘‘ No, I assure you, I do not think it gentlemanly to 
^slap’ people,” said Alfierdermo, though I perhaps do 
not understand your meaning.” 

“ Perhaps you think it is such a one I gave you in the 
garden once,” continued Smithers, but you are mistaken ; 
I meant merely a reproof, so applicable to me, that it was 
applied to another for effect. You pretend to think little 
of wealth, and abuse your own father for having obtained 
it. What Avould you have been — from whom would have 
come your fine clothes, and your education, and all the 
refinement you boast of, if your father had not had 
wealth ? ” 

Excuse me,” replied Alfierdermo, much affected by 
the words Mr. Smithers had just uttered;- “ I did not in- 
tend any reproach to my good father, nor to exhibit any 
ingratitude for the innumerable favors he has conferred on 
me, nor to express any contempt of commercial pursuits ; 
on the contrary, I honor my father for his uprightness in 
business,” (and here Mr. Smithers shrugged his shoulders 
and muttered to himself, that’s of little consequence”), 
‘‘ I respect him, for his devotion to w^hat he may have 
deemed duty, and I thank him — at least, it would seem 
like crude ingratitude if I should not thank him — for my 
education. But, my dear Sir, to tell you the truth, it 
seems to me that what has been placed in my head has 
been almost a curse to me, or else my nature is most un- 
happy. My father, with his millions, has no contentment ; 
he is literally wearing himself out in a struggle for greater 
wealth, or what is to him synonymous, ‘ respectability.’ He 
has no enjoyment but in erecting to his name a hollow trunk 
that will only echo his deprivations, — rearing up a tinseled 


CRIMORA. 


53 


frame-work, which will crumble around him'; yielding him 
neither comfort nor support in the hour of his dissolution.’’ 

‘‘ Really, I begin to feel,” said Mr. Smithers, that 
your education has done you no good ; for what is there 
in the world like wealth ? Wealth ! come by it as you 
will, gains for you the profound respect of everybody. The 
rich court you, the poor worship you ; and though you 
obtain your treasures by the most cutting villany, the 
means sink beneath, and are buried forever under the 
mountain of your visible, tangible worth. With wealth, my 
dear Fiello, you can buy kingdoms and their kings ; can 
sway, as do our bankers at the present time, the destinies 
of Europe. This is not all ; for the very thing we are said 
most to lack is most at our service — Intellect. Yes ; the 
whole talent of the land is at our disposal ; there is not a 
brain but will distort itself, nerve itself for us, as much as 
though it was in our own craniums.” 

You say much that is true, Mr. Smithers,” responded 
Alfierdermo, but there is a vast deal that to you remains 
covert, a vast deal beyond all you have touched upon, 
which a mind of a very different structure from yours 
can alone grasp. The possession of wealth on its broad- 
est vantage ground, has no element of virtue ; it prompts 
to no noble deeds ; its aspirations are of necessity 
earthly, grovelling, sensual ; its relations are external and 
gross. Confine you in a prison with all the wealth of the 
world, and it would be of no consolation to you, for there 
you would be deprived of all the relations that rendered it 
valuable. When descending from the sunny hill-side of 
life, and the gate opens on the dark valley of the shadow 
of death, wealth’s golden Avings on which you may have 
5 * 


54 


CRIMORA. 


floated merrily for awhile, turn to huge bolts of iron that 
rivet you to earth, and true to its character, as exhibited in 
life, impedes every attempt of the soul’s upward flight ; but 
bestow on a man the treasures of intellect — in the dungeon, 
in the crowded w^orld, he enjoys it all — he communes 
with his own spirit, wdth Nature, and his God ; and when 
the shroud that is to enwTap his final dissolution gathers 
about him, the glory of the spirit land, into which he has 
had but a glimpse in his earthly career, dawns on his em- 
bryo intellect, and charms him into heaven. 0 ! would to 
God my mind could grasp all knowledge of things here ! 
I should then deem myself almost fit to be like Enoch 
translated ; but, could I have the wealth of the Indies, as 
the cost of all my mental energies, I w^ould reject the offer, 
as I would a proffer for my soul, — as Christ did the arch 
fiend’s offer of the whole world.” 

The energy with which the last sentence w^as uttered 
astonished Mr. Smithers, for he had never seen the like in 
Alfierdermo ; and now, with mouth and eyes wide open, 
with body bending tow^ards the speaker, as though 
some faint yet terrible ray of light had pierced his 
benumbed brain, he exclaimed, ‘‘ Alfierdermo, you are 
mad ! ” 

“ If the mass of mankind who give their wiiole souls to 
the attainment of riches are sane, then, indeed, Mr. Smith- 
ers,” responded the Italian, I confess that I am mad. 
Perhaps I should more freely admit my incapacity to 
comprehend what you term the rationalis of existence, 
for I admit that even in my own ‘ Land of Fancy ’ they 
call me a dreamer. Some say, however, t^t I am vastly 
proud, w^hen perchance I am only taciturn, from lack of 


CRIMORA. 


55 


the companionship of those who are molto dmpatica^ 
while others from the same cause adorn my name with a 
category of titles that are led by stupidity and worthless- 
ness. The brawny blacksmith looks contemptuously on my 
puny arm, the while he thinks I despise him because his 
hands are hard. Each one who toils for his daily bread, 
the poor man, the uneducated man, who know me not, 
would, if they dared, spit on me in derision, because my 
garb is finer than theirs, my hands whiter, and my air one 
of affluence and idleness. If they are just, then I confess 
that I am not sane.’’ 

I have much to ask you about your father, and about 
business,” resumed Mr. Smithers ; for you have been a 
long time absent ; but as we are on a subject which we have 
never previously broached, let us continue it. Tell me 
truly, I beg, if you do not think that such men as your 
father, who' labor to supply the means by which you are 
clothed and fed, are not, at least, partially justified in their 
hatred of you, and of all who idle away their precious 
time ? ” 

‘‘Far from it,” replied Alfierdermo. “ A man who 
does nothing does better than he who robs his neighbor. 
Merchants, traders, speculators, bankers, i^odace nothing. 
Their wealth is derived from getting the advantage 
in the simple, inglorious business of exchanging the pro- 
ducts or gains of others ; and if there is not a surplus of 
property in the world, he who gets more than his share has 
robbed others of theirs. My father is of this class, and 
though I love him as my father, I could never condescend 
to follow in his footsteps.” 


56 


CRIMORA. 


you speak thus disrespectfully of your good 
father and his occupation ? ” said Smithers, with some 
astonishment and chagrin. 

“ I speak what I know to be the truths and if parents or 
friends cannot stand by it, they must fall,’’ responded 
Alfierdermo, firmly. But let me continue — 

Producers are noblemen ! They seldom, if ever, receive 
more than, — and generally fall short of, — the just reward 
of their labors. They hold a high and sacred place in the 
great Temple of the Universe, and though its broad pave- 
ments may again be blessed by a footstep of the Saviour, I 
am sure they will never be scourge.d from its sacred pre- 
cincts ; others may be — as exemplified in the money 
^ changers of the Temple of Jerusalem. Farmers, mechanics, 
artists, authors, are producers. The former labor for our 
physical, the latter for our mental necessities. If the former 
discontinued their productions, we should die ; if the latter, 
discontinued theirs, we should be Ivorse than dead — 
images of the Deity grovelling with uncultivated intellects 
in degradation and brutality. 

“ Go on, my young friend,” said Smithers ; perhaps, 
by and by I shall see ' daylight through the fog of your 
eloquence.” 

“ Thank you ! ” responded Alfierdermo ; and if you 
will allow me, I will say more in self-defence.” 

‘‘ Go on,” said Smithers, again. 

“ I will, then,” resumed the Italian, ‘‘ show you, that 
W’hile the mere exchanger of other men’s products is infe- 
rior to the farmer, mechanic, artist and author, the two 
latter are superior to the former; for while the farmer 
and mechanic labor for the temporary necessities of the 


C R I M 0 R A . 


57 


body which perishes, the artist and author enlarge, re- 
fine, exalt the soul which never dies. We obtain a mo- 
mentary sensual pleasure from eating and drinking, but the 
food which the artist and scholar give us is divine and 
immortal — will impart beauty and nourishment to the 
spirit, till the Great Central Mind is no more. 

Fancy and forethought ! Powers perverted ! Shall I 
reply to your Italian ideas ? ” said Smithers. 

One moment more, and I have done,” responded 
Alfierdermo ; for I have yet to say that I can give proof 
to the bold assertion, that these dreamers, as they are 
called, often work out, in some idle moment, more lasting 
benefits — benefits which will descend to and bless all pos- 
terity — than those muscular frames I have referred to, 
could do in ages. I would also acknowledge my indebted- 
ness to that class of people (including poets, painters and 
sculptors), for the infinite variety and exquisiteness of 
joys I have experienced in this world. It is true, that 
those whose refinement and delicacy of sentiment enable 
them to enjoy the compositions of a Mozart, a Raphael, a 
Praxiteles, or those beauties of nature which the Creator 
has lavishly spread on all hands — suffer, also, intensely 
from the discords, crudities, and deformities met with in the 
walk of life.” 

Such people we call Nambies,” said Smithers. 

Write me down, then, a Nainby,” replied Alfierdermo ; 
but give me credit for not claiming any merit in the 
case.” 

1 will not give you Italians credit for a modesty which 
I think you do not possess,” responded Smithers. 


58 


CRIMORA. 


You spoke, a little while ago,’’ resumed Alfierdermo, 
of people like my father hating such persons as I have 
just been attempting to defend ; give me credit, at least, 
for hating no one, and not intentionally by look, deed, or 
word, injuring the feelings of a single fellow-traveller to 
eternity. This, however, does not imply that I would or 
could make them all my companions and associates. Many 
of them, though better in heart, in purpose, than myself, I 
could not consort with, because our tastes, our sentiments, 
and education are widely different.” 

“I think,” replied Mr. Smithers, ‘-that I begin to 
understand you a little. Signor Fiello ; but you are entirely 
on the wrong track. Your scent is keen, but you follow 
the wrong game. You are sensitive, but to no purpose. 
Turn your thoughts to business, and you will find that these 
good, hardy, working men, are fit companions for kings ; 
your life will be one to be envied, and the respect of the 
whole world will follow you to your grave.” 

‘‘ I am sorry we so widely differ, Mr. Smithers,” said 
Alfierdermo; but the carriage stops, and you have not 
even told me who are the happy couple w^hose bridal eve 
you bring me to joy in.” 

“ That’s of no consequence now, for you will soon see 
for yourself ; and if it does not recall old times in England, 
I miss my reckoning.” 


CRIMORA. 


59 


CHAPTER VII. 

Alfiedermo stepped from his carriage into a Corin- 
thian colonnade of one of the most stately mansions of the 
great metropolis. Brilliant lights illuminated every apart- 
ment ; liveried servants thronged the great halls and 
marble stairways, and the gay, laughing, loving groups 
tha^ at every turn attracted his attention, bewildered him 
by their dazzling beauty ; though, like the breeze that 
ripples only the surface of the glassy lake while the depths 
remained tranquil as thought, touched not the under- 
currents of his heart. 

Smithers led the way, but in passing the open door of 
the grand saloon, Alfierdermo was arrested by a faint cry 
of^^Fiello!” 

She recognises you,’’ said Smithers, turning and 
pointing to a lady, who, in her strange but now pallid 
loveliness, seemed looking for support. 

My God ! ” wildly exclaimed Alfierdermo, as his eager 
gaze reached the fair creature who had pronounced his 
name ; and in an instant he was kneeling beside the faint- 
ing form of Aluine, the hride. 

The guests were now in the greatest consternation. 
Some threw up the windows, others ran for water ; while 
the bridegroom, hastening to his chamber to obtain some 
favorite smelling-drops, left to the most active and inter- 


60 


CRIMORA. 


ested an opportunity to chafe the hand, smoothe the brow, 
and put back the dark curls from the alabaster forehead of 
the gentle sufferer. Alfierdermo was the one ; and who 
could have done it more gently, more tenderly than he ? 
But ah ! there was no one present who, could they have 
known the shrieking agony of his heart at that moment, 
would have been the young Italian. Was the hand cold ? 
It sent fire to his brain. Did that face look like death ? 
He read in it his all — his life. Were her lips speechless ? 
They spoke to him of love and despair. Was her form in- 
sensible ? To him it was the adored impersonation of 
sensibility. Were her eyes closed ? ’Neath the dark 
lashes which lay like a long silken fringe on her pallid 
cheek, they w^ere burning into Ins very soul. 

“ Shall I make you acquainted with Mr. Jones ? ” said 
Smithers to Alfierdermo, as the husband returned with the 
smelling-bottle. The Italian, still holding the hand and 
gazing into the sufferer’s face, as though his own existence 
was treasured there, heard nothing. 

I will relieve you now, sir,” said the husband to 
Alfierdermo. ‘‘ Ah ! is it possible ? — is it you, my 
young friend, whom I met a year ago on a like occasion ? 
0, she will soon recover under your pleasing care, no 
doubt ; but let her inhale this, and it will aid you much,” 
and Mr. J ones applied unsparingly the remedy he had pro- 
cured, and had the satisfaction of restoring the sufferer to 
immediate consciousness. 

Did the young bride dream ? No, but still, at fii’st, she 
feared so. Was it a reality ? Finding her slender fingers 
actual prisoners in those of Alfierdermo — who, regardless 
of any one’s presence but Lorma’s, remained kneeling 


CRIMORA . 


61 


before her — she burst into tears, too happy and too wretch- 
ed to conceal her emotions. 

Be comforted, my dear wife,’’ said Mr. Jones ; it is 
but a momentary dizziness from which you will soon re- 
cover. Exert yourself all you can, for our numerous 
guests are anxious about you.” ' 

Aluine heard the last words her husband uttered, which 
called her to a sense of propriety, and warned her of her 
sad part in the drama of which she was unfortunately the 
heroine. She saw that to remain longer as she then was, 
was perfectly injudicious, and she instantly withdrew her 
hand ; — not however without giving its late tender cage 
one gentle pressure of recognition, love, and gratitude. 

The resolutions which Alfierdermo had recently made 
had now all vanished. The passion which for a year he 
had manfully struggled against, returned with all its fasci- 
nating power. If he could have gone back but half an 
hour, and known what was before him, he w’ould have com- 
mitted suicide rather than subject himself to another such 
trial. But now he was convinced that it was all too late ; — 
that he could not again stifle the wild yet sweet delirium 
with which this fair silver dove filled his soul ; — that he 
could not put out the light which God himself had kindled 
in his bosom by the perfection of His own handiwork, and 
which he felt was as pure and holy a flame as that which 
descended from heaven to light the sacrificial fire on the 
altar" of the humble, trusting, worshipping Abel. Had he 
and Aluine ever spoken of love ? — ever exchanged vows 
of constancy ? — ever sworn fidelity to each other ? Never. 

There are minds, souls, hearts — or whatever you may 
call them^ — of a like genial nature, made by the Almighty 
6 


62 


GRIM OR A. 


for each other. When they meet — without sign or 
word — they commingle. Their active element is a subtle, 
involuntary, uncontrolable, indefinable, permeating elec- 
tricity or finer magnetism — the divine element which 
constitutes their likeness to Him who fashioned them ; — 
an element which recognises neither space nor time — a 
lofty, abiding principle which distinguishes man from the 
brute. 

Aluine and Alfierdermo had met once, — they had 
looked into each other’s eyes, and from that moment their 
hearts never separated. No waking hour ever passed by 
them which was not perfumed by their sweet thoughts of 
each other ; and if a night glided away in which there was 
no cognate dream of their first meeting, the morning was 
one of sadness and fear. Alfierdermo had twice crossed 
the Alps, — had basked in the sunny smiles of the fair 
daughters of the south, — had seen, been with, caressed 
his betrothed ; but the summit of Mount Blanc was not 
colder than his heart towards them all. The ro9y vallej^s 
of his native land could not chain his feet ; their beauty 
and brightness were a mockery ; and when twelve long 
tedious months had taken their last leaden-footed steps, he 
resolved to try the dissipations of London and drown, if 
possible, the truly sacred yearnings of his generous heart. 

Having seen our hero’s second advent in the great 
capital, we will follow him only a little further, then leave 
him, to take up those whom we have so long neglected ; as 
we shall have arrived at the date of time when they figure 
with those whom we have here introduced. 

Mrs. Smithers being set down from her private carriage, 
reached the saloon just in time to see her half-sister 


CRIMORA, 


63 


withdraw her hand from Alfierdermo’s — see her burst Into 
tears while the youth Avas still at her feet ; — and all that, 
on the very night of her marriage. 

‘‘ Scandalous ! scandalous ! ’’ exclaimed Mrs. Smithers, 
loud enough to be heard by half the assembly ; and with- 
out deigning to approach the subject of her animadversion, 
sailed most dignifiedly down to the extremity of the apart- 
ment, Avhere, encountering several ladies of sufficiently 
aristocratic bearing to be included in her clique of respect- 
ability, she resumed : — “ How dare she disgrace herself, 
and by such outrageous conduct ! It comes, I suppose, 
from being called pretty, and the lack of that moral tone of 
education under which I was reared. I have a great 
mind to leave the house instantly ! 

Mrs. Smithers’s listeners had not the slightest objection 
to her going as soon as she found it convenient ; but there 
Avas something more than Mrs. Smithers was willing to 
confess, Avhich kept her there. Shall I expose the piety of 
this Avoman, Avhich was only prominent in speech ; or if in 
action, only because there had been no temptation laid in 
her way to make her otherwise ? — a reason in truth why 
the most homely Avomen are usually the most severely vir- 
tuous ; — priding themselves upon that of Avhich they 
know not the uncomplimentary cause. 

Mrs. Smithers bit her lips sharply when she saAV the 
young Italian rise from his knees, and turn his face to- 
Avards a Avindow to hide the tears that were coursing 
doA\m his cheeks, — and thus communed Avith herself: — 
‘‘ I believe the little silly vixen loves him ! He is not 
very handsome, but then he has such a heavenly expres- 
sion ! — still Avhat right has she to think of him^ when she 


64 


CRIMORA. 


is just married to that noble and wealthy Mr. Jones ? I 
shall look after her — it is my duty, and shall report to her 
husband if I see anything wrong. Perhaps the best way 
to manage the whole thing will be to make an intimate 
and confidant of Alfierdermo himself. Yes, I will do it ! 
I am resolved, and by this means I may save my sister’s 
respectability. I will go at once to him — I will invite him 
home in my carriage — I will make him take tea with me 
every evening ; and I know, as he is so afiectionate and 
gentle, he will, by his many little attentions, supply the 
place of Mr. Smithers, whose everlasting business prevents 
his being in the least degree like a lover. I know I shall 
like him well enough to exert myself to keep him from my 
sister, and if I succeed I may save a soul from perdition. 
He is a dear fellow ! I’ll go now and speak to him ; but 
first let me recall his conduct this evening. When he first 
took my hand, he certainly pressed it warmly to his lips ; 
but that is Italian custom. He said, too, it had been a long 
time be had not had the pleasure of seeing me ; that he hoped 
I had not forgotten him. And when he took his leave, he 
certainly looked much which he might have spoken if Mr. 
Smithers had not been present. Now he’s reached the 
alcove. I’ll go to him at once and we’ll chat there alone 
and undisturbed.” 

Mrs. Smithers hastened to make herself agreeable to the 
Italian, while Aluine, chiding herself for that exhibition of 
emotion which she feared had betrayed too much of her 
heart, tried by renewed assiduity to restore cheerfulness to 
her guests. But she moved not from the apartment where 
Alfierdermo was, nor did she, with all her powers exerted 
to the contrary, fail to frequently cast a glance at the 
alcove which contained him. 


CRIMORA. 


65 


Mr. Jones was too happy to notice that his young bride 
assumed a gaiety she did not feel, — or Signor 
Alfierdermo had a hiding place which commanded a view 
of her every movement ; or that she spoke when near the 
alcove — of “friends we love,” — of “welcome foreign- 
ers,” or “ we shall know those who love us, for they will 
come often to see us.” 

Aluine was for the first time in her life practicing deceit. 
Her situation, for the first time, perhaps, compelled her to 
do it. Unbeknown to herself, from the first time she saw 
Alfierdermo, he was her betrothed. If she confessed this 
to her laivful husband, it might make him wretched ; to 
withhold the confession from the Italian might drive him 
mad, and her kindness of heart forbade her grieving either. 
But it will be asked — why did she marry one whom she 
did not love ? We must explain. 

We remember that Mr. Jones, at first meeting Aluine, 
was deeply smitten by her beauty and resolved to make her 
his wife. He was amiable, wealthy, and much respected ; 
and none would have considered his chance doubtful. 
Having obtained permission to visit her at her father’s 
house, he availed himself of it to the full extent courtesy 
permitted, — which soon became very often, since Aluine’s 
parents were charmed with the suitor. Bred almost 
tirely in the country, and a perfect stranger to the philo^Orr 
phy of love — to its emotions, hopes, fears, longings — she 
regarded Mr. Jones with a kind of sisterly tenderness, and 
at length looked up to him as to her father ; for he so 
sedulously studied her wants and gratified them, that she 
oftencr appealed to him than to Mr. Lathmon, when any 
special caprice was to be satisfied. Months rolled on, and 
6 * 


66 


CRIMORA. 


though the youthful Italian filled her hearty Mr. Jones 
filled her head; and when she gave her consent to a union 
with the latter, it was in all honesty and sincerity. The 
love she bore Alfierdermo, she thought but a trick of the 
fancy ; while the respect she felt for Mr. Jones, she con- 
cluded would be the real and hona fide sentiment necessary 
to wedded bliss. Had she Imoun her own heart, she 
would have given it to the dogs rather than acted as she 
did ; for she knew no guile, and was as perfect a creature 
as ever the Almighty fashioned for our admiration. If 
blame could attach to either, it was to Mr. J ones ; for with 
his experience in the w^orld, he could know for a certainty 
whether the innocent, unsophisticated Aluine Lorma could 
find her whole world in him ; or whether there was not 
something which her peculiar temperament, and excessive 
native refinement, would not be obliged to seek after else- 
where than in his character, for their gratification. 


CRIMORA. 


67 


CHAPTER VIII. 

From his retreat, Alfierdenno watched every motion of 
Mrs. Jones. ‘‘ Mrs. Jones ! ’’ he would repeat again and 
again to himself ; — ‘‘ No, it is my Aluine I gaze on ! Oh 
God ! is she not beautiful ? Did not hfeaven intend her for 
me ? Why this fate so cruel ? Why has my happiness^ 
(happiness is all we live for here), been sacrificed to my 
father’s ambition for a name ? My wife’s title and. wealth 
— her ancestral name — -he deemed all sufficient; and 
claimed my obedience to his will, because he was my 
father, and had given me life and education ; neither of 
which I asked him for, nor would have accepted at such 
high cost. Oh heavens ! what sin have I committed, that 
I must endure all this.” 

Lost in such reflections, he only heard the sound of Mrs. 
Smithers’s voice, but recognized no word she uttered ; 
while the lady, alternately growing pale with jealousy, or 
red with anger, at the incoherent answers the young Italian 
returned to her earnest speech, felt her heart more deeply 
interested in the work she had engaged in, than she herself 
had anticipated. 

The hour grew late, the last of the guests were retiring, 
yet Alfierdenno lingered. Mrs. Smithers had several 
times profiered her carriage ; he thanked her once, but 
still lingered ; for he did not dare to trust himself io speak to 


68 


ORIMORA. 


Alulne, and could not endure the thought of losing sight of 
her. The time, however, came. Aluine stood at the door, 
with her back towards him, bidding adieu to some guests. 
He felt that he could approach her unobserved, and in an 
instant take his leave and be out of sight. He had calcu- 
lated well for himself, but had not thought that the loved 
one might be taken unawares. “ Farewell, Mrs. Jones,” 
said a faltering voice, as she, goddess-like, half turned her 
beautiful neck at the sound of steps, while the hand that 
hung at her side was seized and pressed passionately to 
lips that could not speak more. 

Like a flash of vivid lightning, the farewell ” gleamed 
along the heart of the hostess, and for an instant — as if 
pressed hard by the hand of death, her whole form was 
bent. towards the speaker. Could she have opened her lips 
she would have said, “ Take me — Oh, for heaven’s sake, 
take me with thee ! ” but her brain was an undefinable 
chaos. With great energy, however, she in an instant 
rallied, and turning her attitude into a low and respectful 
courtesy, caused Mr. J ones to see in it all, nothing but the 
most bewitching grace ; while the pallor which again spread 
over her cheeks he believed to be caused by the fatigue of 
the evening. 

Let us have the pleasure of seeing you often. Signor 
Alfierdermo,” said Mr. Jones. 

The young Italian* dared not venture his voice to reply, 
but bowing more profoundly than ever, wdien touching the 
hand of his soul’s idol, he acknowledged the honor done to 
him, and with a haste that hardly became his gallantry, he 
descended^ with Mrs. Smithers clinging to his arm, to the 
carriage that then “ stopped the way.” 


CRIMORA . 


69 


“ What is the matter, my little bird ? said Mr. Jones 
to his bride, seeing she did not resume her usually erect 
position, and that she hung heavily on him ; You are 
wearied to death with all this parade, to which you are so 
wholly unaccustomed.’’ Finding that she made no reply, 
and was sinking to the floor, he caught her in his arms, 
and as if she had been a feather, bore her to her chamber. 
Several hours elapsed before she fully recovered a conscious- 
ness of her whereabouts — then swooned again, and so re- 
mained, watched by her kind husband and maid, till the 
golden light of morning lit up the rich drapery of her 
bridal couch. 

Fiello Alfierdermo would have given much to have been 
alone, that he might relieve with tears the agony of his 
soul, and call the lost Lorma by all the tender names love 
can invent ; but Mrs. Smithers, feeling it her duty to 
soothe his agitated mind, had taken his hand in hers, 
while she poured out words of tenderness, which, on any 
other occasion, or in any other person, would have shocked 
her rehgious propriety to its very centre. The more in- 
different Fiello appeared, the more solicitous she became 
to win him to thoughts of herself. Not the slightest hope, 
however, dawned on her suffocating spirits, till arriving at 
the hotel, the young man took his leave, and in doing so 
pressed her hand warmly to his lips. The door of the car- 
riage then closed on a heart beating with happiness in the 
pious bosom of Mrs. Smithers. 

Aluine had awakened in the morning as from a dream ; 
yet she had not slept. She gazed around her slowly, and 
apparently calmly, but the big tears that rolled from her 
eyes spoke 'of some inward joy or sorrow. Finding that 


70 


CRIMOEA . 


her husband still watched by her side, she felt a strange 
pang of pity and regret, and said to him, — Dear, kind 
husband, I hope you will forgive me for my foolish weak- 
ness, and the trouble I have so unfortunately and unde- 
signedly caused you. You knew, however, that I was a 
spoiled child, and I fear you should not have thought of me 
for a wife,^^ 

‘‘ Do not regret anything, my little Aluine. I am 
quite contented so that you are well again,’ ^ replied Mr. 
Jones ; and now that you can do without me, I will go 
and rest awhile.” 

Do so, kind sir, I beg of you,” said Aluine ; “ think 
kindly of me, and resolve to forgive all my follies.” 

“ It is rather a sad beginning,” muttered Mr. Jones to 
himself, as he shut the door, but I suppose I did wrong 
to take the little unfledged thing from those whose care has 
been peculiarly tender ; in fact I know not what to do with 
her. She needs the softest of hands to caress her, and the 
most choice and refined of language to beguile her ear. 

^ All this I knew before I married her ; yet, to possess her, 
seemed of the utmost importance to my happiness. She 
will, however, soon assimilate her tastes with mine ; will 
like my fine horses, hounds, and friends, and will become 
the gayest and most fashionable of our great city. Her 
beauty will gain for me the envy of all. They will ex- 
claim, — ^ What a lucky dog he is ! ’ and ‘ Where could he 
have picked up so much loveliness ! ’ ” With these con- 
solinsr thou2:hts Mr. Jones went to his own apartment and 

O O j. 

slept most soundly. 

After an hour of earnest thought, and searchings into 
her own heart, Aluine dismissed her maid, and rising from 


CBIMORA. 


71 


her bed, knelt down beside it, and prayed most fervently to 
the Almighty for direction and aid. But what spirit 
seemed to mingle with hers as she soared upward on the 
wings of Faith ? It was Alfierdermo’s. Oh ! ” she would 
say to herself, if my dear Fiello was here, with one arm 
about my neck, he would so fervently pray for a blessing 
on our heads, that the dear Saviour would hear him. 
Here, kneeling beside me, with that divinity which I have* 
read in his face, the angels would not refuse to listen ; and 
I know, I feel certain, that the dear Virgin Mary would 
aid me while I prayed for him. There is something in my 
breast which tells me I am his — that this step I have 
taken is a flaw in my destiny ; but Oh heavens ! how can it 
now be altered ? ” — and wringing her hands and burying 
her face in the dov/ny bed, she again wept as though her 
very heart was being riven asunder. 

Of a sudden she rose from her knees, while a bright 
light gleamed in her face, and she exclaimed, — It is not 
too late ! — it is not too late ! ” then seizing a pen, she 
wrote : — 

‘‘Adored Fiello: — 

“ Last night revealed to me again the course of my des- 
tiny. From the evening I first saw you, I have been 
yours. I learned something of your history after you left 
England, but supposing you would never return, and not 
having looked into my own heart, I received the atten- 
tions of Mr. Jones, and gave him my hand ; — and until I 
saw you last evening I did not know but that my heart had 
gone with it. Oh cruel haste ! Oh unhappy me ! 


72 


CRIMORA. 


‘‘ There was a strange fatality in our second meeting, 
and you felt it. What does it portend ? After you left 
me last night, I fainted quite away, and did not suflGiciently 
recover to be without watchers till this morning. The 
maid tells me that Mr. Jones sat by me and bestowed on 
me all the attentions he thought necessary, and as soon as 
t recovered, left me to rest himself. Can I not, then, 
break this marriage bond ? Mr. Jones is a kind man, and 
when I tell him where my heart is, he will yield me up, 
and in a day will be as happy as ever with his friends and 
his dogs. Write me instantly,! intreat of you, while I re- 
main ever yours, 

‘‘Aluine Lorma.’’ 

It was very late when Alfierdermo descended from his 
chamber and found the letter awaiting him. He did not 
recognize the hand, but when his eyes fell upon the signa- 
ture he pressed it to his^ lips, trembling with emotion ; and 
when he had possessed himself of the contents of the fair 
missive, he placed it in his bosom and wept like a child. 
“ Oh God ! Oh God ! why this new stroke ? ” he mur- 
mured to himself ; why, oh why could I not sooner 
have known all this ? But I cannot deceive Jier. I will 
immediately write and tell her I am also married — though 
God knows I would give my life’s blood to spare her the 
pang it will awaken.” When suflSciently composed, he 
wrote : — 

Hotel, 7 o’clock, P. M. 

‘‘ My Adored Aluine: — 

‘‘ The dear, precious note which you sent to me this 
morning has but just reached me. Could I but a month 
ago have known the contents of it, we both might have 


C RIM ORA. 


73 


been spared that bitterness which to-day fills up our cup. 
In my late visit to Italy, — to gratify my father, to obey 
his commands, — I married the Marchioness Eulala Cor- 
sano. I need not tell you how much of happiness there 
was in it ; for I immediately returned to England, for the 
purpose of drowning and forgetting my. double griefs. 
This explains all ; but. Oh ! dear, precious Aluine, if you 
will call me friend^ it Avill allay something of the misery 
which consumes me ; and if my friendship can, in the 
remotest degree, tend to assuage the sorrows of your own 
heart. 

Believe me, eternally yours, 

Fiello.” 

In the deepest trepidation, Aluine had w^aited all the day 
for an answer to her letter. At one moment she was confi- 
dent that Alfierdermo was all her’s, — that she had but 
to make a painful explanation to Mr. Jones, and then her 
real life would commence ; at another, she was cast down 
by fears, and doubted if any permanent happiness was 
ever allotted to mortals. 

The long-expected missive at last arrived, and Aluine 
felt as though a huge iron gate had risen between her and 
heaven — and her soul was crushed within her. He 
loves me,’’ repeated Aluine many times to herself, and 
he will be my friend ; but Oh ! he cannot be my husband. 
Fly swift. Oh time, that I may meet him in heaven ! ” 

Mr. Jones now entered the room to conduct his wife to 
dinner ; but her palid countenance, and the deep melancholy 
which hung over her like a veil, smote him as would a 
voice of reproof from the other world. I fear, my dear 
7 


'4 


CRIMORA. 


little Lorma,” said he, that yoti are not only ill, but dis- 
contented in your new home. But don’t get home-sick 
yet ; to-morrow we will take a turn in the country, and in 
the evening we will have a jolly set to dine with us — all 
good fellows, anxious to make your *acquaintance. Come 
now, cheer up ; and if there is anything I can get for you 
to add to your comfort, let me know, and it shall be order- 
ed at once.” 

You are too kind, Mr. Jones,” replied Aluine, for 
really I am not deserving of it. I will, however, try to 
merit your esteem and retain your admiration, which is a 
very important step towards making a wife contented. I 
doubt not your friends are good and true ; but you know I 
am rather more fond of retirement than gaiety, and prefer 
eating quietly with you to sitting down with any number of 
gentlemen, however jolly and witty they may be. But as 
you say I shall soon like all this, I will not anticipate any- 
thing disagreeable.” 

“ Disagreeable ! Mrs. Jones, do you say ? Y’ou cannot 
for a moment imagine that the fine-hearted gentlemen 
whom in friendship I style good fellows, and whom I select 
for my companions, can be, or would be allowed to be, dis- 
agreeable ? ” 

No, no. Not that, dear Mr. Jones ; I only meant 
that they might not be suited to my country tastes — my 
unsophisticated ideas. I you know I will, try and 
love them all ; do all I can to make them happy,” and a 
shudder crept along the nerves of this sensitive plant, 
as she thought of jollity and good cheer — the life that was 
to administer to the whole physical appetite, but to the soul 
nothing. 


CRIMOTtA . 


75 


Dinner passed quietly and soberly away, for there was 
an evident restraint on the part of Mr. and Mrs. Jones, in 
the midst of a serious effort to be cheerful. Aluine could 
eat nothing, though Mr. Jones enjoyed hugely (as the cook 
said) all the dainty dishes that followed one another to his 
lavish board. He was indeed in his element, but did not 
whojly neglect his young bride ; and when not too much 
occupied by his appetite, essayed to cheer her with witti- 
cisms, good stories, and good wine. Aluine strove to re- 
ceive it all as it was intended ; but if she smiled, it evinced 
no gladness of heart, and when Mr. Jones — having finish- 
ed his bottle — apologized for adopting his usual custom of 
smoking after meals, and she was allowed to retire, she 
flew to her apartments with intense satisfaction, and gave 
herself to prayer and to thoughts of Fiello Alfierdermo. 


76 


CKIMORA. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Months passed away, and Alfierdermo had given up all 
hopes of happiness in this world, except that which he might 
derive from being near the angelic Aluine. Death seem- 
ed far preferable to a life apart from hers ; yet there was 
a kind guardian spirit who constantly turned his thoughts 
when they ran in the current of self-destruction, and 
placed in their stead some imaginings, though vague and 
unsatisfactory, of a calm and joyous future. To be in the 
same street, town, country with his idol, was something ; 
but to be in her own house, and in her own society — 
where he often found himself — was a species of opiate 
that seemed necessary to his sanity. If he felt an occa- 
sional twinge of conscience — or rather a simple conscious- 
ness that he was not obeying the lessens taught to him in 
his youth by those who believed them to be true because 
they were ancient, but which his superior judgment found 
to be unphilosophical and erroneous — in the remembrance 
that he had deserted his lawful wife, he defended his con- 
duct by maintaining, that after he had obeyed his father’s 
behests, it became his duty — his solemn, religious duty — 
to do that for himself which alone could make life support- 
able to him. He knew, too, that his Italian wife (by laiv) 
had no particular fancy for him — their tastes beiug entirely 


CRIMORA. 


77 


dissimilar ; and he was aware that she would enjoy her- 
self well without him, — that his absence could not annoy, 
while his presence might sometimes be inconvenient to her. 

Signor Fiello Alfierdermo liked Mr. Jones much, as a 
good-natured, generous soul, given to pleasure and the 
good things of this world ; while Mr. Jones liked Signor 
Alfierdermo because he was a gentleman, a man of great 
sensibility and refinement. The very dissimilarity of char- 
acter of these two persons seemed to draw them together ; 
and to the mansion of Mr. Jones the Italian was a free and 
welcome guest, — the more welcome, since he could re- 
lieve the ennui and lassitude under which the lovely Lorma 
appeared to be sinking. In his many visits, Alfierdermo 
often found the lady alone — Mr. Jones being absent with 
his sporting friends — and then it devolved on her to enter- 
tain him. The task to this noble and generous creature 
was, it may well be supposed, a most pleasing one, for her 
whole soul was in it ; and no cloud flitted across the sunny 
field of her joy till the lateness of the hour compelled her 
to bid her friend adieu. 

Lorma ai^d Fiello understood well their relative positions. 
They knew their actions were to be controlled by an unna- 
tural and iniquitous law, framed by those who, fearing they 
should not shake oS* all of the licentiousness of barbarism, 
were ready to take any stride that bigotry and sectarian- 
ism might suggest, even to the most impious innovation on 
the sacred rights of humanity. And though this law 
(most strangely sanctioned by its very victims), with its 
stern, soulless, Tartarus-born visage, stepped in between 
them and heaven-born happiness, they yielded, for a while 
at least, to* its mandates. They did not talk of love, for 
7 * 


78 


CRIMORA. 


they read it in silence in each other’s eyes. They did not 
often refer to Mr. Jones, for they tacitly understood it 
would recall a world of vain regrets. Their conversation 
principally turned on books — such as had garnered in 
them the riches of souls ; such as played harmoniously to 
them on the strings of the heart. Here indeed they were 
both perfectly at home ; and with the gentle wand of sen- 
sibility traced out in their own bosoms, as on a map, the 
sympathetic rivulets of charity, the deep seas of sorrow, 
the sunny pastures of benevolence, the arid deserts of 
jealousy and distrust, and boundless continents of hope. 
No paragraph had ever been remembered by the one, 
which had not been marked or noted by the other. Every 
sentiment had suggested the same multitudinous thoughts 
— though in the one they were of a bold and energetic 
character, while in the other they were mild and celestially 
seductive. 

The natural desire of all good hearts that are happy, is, 
that all the world may be happy too. Fiello and Aluine 
loved all the world, and together would have given their 
lives to have had harmony universally pervade^it. Aluine 
would have prayed through long, long nights for such, a 
consummation ; but Fiello knew that t];ie cause of all the 
evil that reigned ‘on the earth was attributable to man^ and 
not to the Deity ; and that to man alone could he appeal 
as the remedial agent. God created all things harmonious 
and beautiful ; man, in his ignorance and petty tyranny, 
had evolved discord and misery. 

With these lovers time passed rapidly away, and brought 
events and circumstances to them as to others. On one of 
the most lovely of summer evenings, Aluine had put aside 


ORIMOR A. 


79 


the rich curtains of an open window of the grand saloon, and 
seated herself on a lounge before it. Welcome to her 
were the cool and refreshing breezes that from the garden 
beneath came up loaded with the perfume of myriads of 
flowers ; while the vast host of bright burning gems which 
studded the blue vault of heaven, the goodness and great- 
ness of the Creator, who must desire the happiness of all 
his creatures — courted her into a contemplative mood. 
Finally her head slipped from the hand that had been sup- 
porting it, and her reveries ended in sleep. Had she 
studied an attitude of fascinating ease and captivating ele- 
gance, she could not have been more successful. Her 
dress was 3f pure white, and of so fine a texture that it fell 
aboUt her round and dainty form as if moulded to its every 
line of beauty. Her delicately-chiselled arm lay along the • 
dark velvet cushion like a ray of moonlight, while over it 
hung a raven curl that added to its whiteness and witchery. 
Then came a br.eath of air more sportive than the rest, and 
as if intent on making mortality irresistible, bore away a 
scarf from the sleeper’s neck, which now, in all its youthful 
lusciouf.ness, gave fresh fragrance to the pilferer. Was 
there a doubt that satin smoothness and velvet softness 
chaTacterized the swelling bosom it had concealed ? You 
would have sworn it to be polished ivory, had not its rich 
billo wings told that the flood and ebb of life were there. 

Signor Alfierdermo had passed the day alone, but find- 
ing solitude no longer supportable, sauntered out’ for an 
evening walk, and soon found himself at the house of his 
friend. The door was open, the porter for the moment ab- 
sent, and, more by accident than design, Fiello stood in the 
grand saloon unannounced. Should he retreat, or apologize ? 


80 


cm MORA. 


was the question he asked himself. The scene before him 
was one of such overwhelming beauty, and so guarded by 
the power of virtue and innocence, that his first impulse 
was to retreat ; the second, which prevailed,, was to remain 
and find an apology in the purity of his own heart. In 
that same heart, however, he could not find the wish to 
awaken the gentle creature ; — so, for an unnoted time, he 
stood in breathless admiration of the world of charms that 
one slight form enshrined. I have used the word admira^ 
tion : it should be adoration. He literally worshipped the 
being before him, and at last, kneeling beside her, he bent 
over her to catch the perfume of her breath, resolved thus 
to inhale the air of paradise, till she became sPvvare of his 
presence. ^ 

• There is no doubt that a current of animal magnetism is 
ever passing between true lovers, however remote from 
each other may be their habitations ; nor can there be a 
doubt that those Avho are dear to us in the spiiit-world are 
ever near to us and influencing us by like affinities. So 
perfect was the harmony existing between Aluine and 
Alfierdermo, she often was conscious of his approach long 
before she could see him. At the very time he was kneel- 
ing beside her, the whole scene was distinctly impressed 
upon her mind^ though her physical frame slumbered 
soundly. She breathed his name : and it is not strange 
she did so. She repeated it, and then stretched out 
her unoccupied arm till it rested on the neck of her wor- 
shipper^. The treasures of earth and sea — the very do-v 
minion of heaven, could not have made him happier ; and 
with all the calmness his wildly throbbing heart could com- 
mand, he awaited further developments. Soon the dream 


CRIMORA. 


81 


seemed closing — she drew him towards her — their lips 
met, and she awoke. Aye, but not with a start and a 
scream, but with a sincerity which Avas trebly captivating ; 

— and her pure silvery voice broke the silence by saying : 
‘‘Even as I dreamed, so have I found thee.’^ 

Till this hour, Alfierdermo had adored his idol from afar. 
He knew the various prejudices and scruples she had im- 
bibed with her English education, and he had respected 
them — showing the utmost deference to her notions of pro- 
jDriety, and so guarding himself in word and deed, as never, 
in the slightest degree, to disturb her most acute suscepti- 
bility. But now, all barriers seemed broken down ; and in 
the ardour and natural impetuosity of his heart he folded her 
to his bosom as though he would absorb her into himself. 
He kissed her forehead, her e/es, her cheeks, her chin, her 
yet uncovered shoulders, her taper fingers, her snowy arms. 
She forgave him, beeause she loved him, and knew the 
purity of his heart ; but she chided him for another’s sake. 

“ Signor Alfierdermo — may I say, my dear Fiello? ” 
said Aluine, gathering her escorf about her heaving bosom, 

— “ for the respect we owe to one who is my legal hus- 
band — for all that is due to society in which we live, let 
this be the last time you pass those bounds you have here- 
tofore, in all kindness and gentleness, observed. You are 
ever welcome to our hearth and our board, while to you I 
am indebted for all the charm of our social circles : let this 
suffice.” . 

“ Dearest of beings ! ” passionately exclaimed Alfier- 
dermo, — touched by the gentleness and sincerity of the 
reproof, “ I own that to be jn your presence is happiness 
enough and should I be deprived of that, I could desire 
nothing but annihilation.” 


82 


C RIM ORA . 


Annihilation, Fiello ! Oh, you do not mean that ! For 
all that supports me in the life I now lead, is the internal 
assurance I possess, that a purer world is to be my inherit- 
ance — a state where all that my mind now yearns for will 
be its element, and where all the flowers that bloom will 
yield that rich perfume my soul so much covets. You, 
you Fiello, will be my bright v lnged companion. This is 
what I hope for, long for, pray for ; and the tliouglit even 
of annihilation is painful, and seems sinful to me.’’ 

A purer spirit than yours, beautiful Lorma, never 
winged its way to the portals of heaven,” said Alfierdermo, 
and all you anticipate, in so far as your own dear self alone 
is concerned, you will enjoy ; but when I spoke, I Vfas think- 
ing of the long sunless years I perhaps had to live here 
without you — years of an^sh, and of unavailing misery. 
My father may at any moment order my return to Italy ; 
circumstances may deprive me of your society, and to rid 
myself of such an existence, I thought annihilation would 
be sweet. But when you, by your divine words, your ar- 
dent faith, bid me look heavenward, I am resigned to the 
bleakest fortune ; while the bright hope that my companion- 
ship will be a portion of your beatitude hereafter, shall con- 
stitute the talisman of my earthly pilgrimage.” 

Be it so ! my dear Fiello ; and let us support, with 
calmness and resignation, the life of wretchedness to which 
we are doomed,” said Aluine, in a tone of profound grief. 

Doomed ! ” repeated Alflerdermo, thoughtfully, 
doomed by whom ? The expression stilus in me a train 
of reflections, on which my mind for years has been bent. 
By whom, think you, dear Lorma, you are doomed ? — for 
\t implies the right and power of a superior being.*” 


C R I M 0 R A . * 


83 


“ It is Heaven’s will,” replied Aluine, in the deepest 
sadness, and I desire most patiently to submit.” 

Then you believe that God has singled you out as one 
on whom to display His particular displeasure ? ” 

It would seem so, though it may be His mercy.” 

And what have you done? — you, the loveliest of 
mortals, — you, of but seventeen years, — you, born 
among and as innocent as the very lambs in your father’s 
fields : — what have you done that you should be con- 
demned to a ivliole life of misery, or afterwards, to an 
’ eternity of it ? ” 

You ask me a question I cannot answer, my dear 
Fiello ; for so far as I know my own heart — and I admit 
that it may deceive me — T never had an evil thought 
against any human being,, but desired, sought after, prayed 
for the happiness of every living thing.” 

‘‘ I knew it, and therefore asked how you could recon- • 
cile Love and Mercy with the avenging spirit you attribute 
to the Deity.” 

But, perhaps, by making us suffer here. He wishes to 
purify us, and prepare us for more joy hereafter,” 
continued Aluine. 

“ That He selects one out of his family to purify — one 
already too pure for earth, is manifesting a partiality so 
vastly at variance with justice and parental beneficence, 
that it cannot find credence, nor be an element of the 
sublime faith we have in a God all Nature proclaims 
to be good.” 

If ‘ evils spring not up from the ground,’ from whence 
come then, those that embitter my waking and sleeping 
hours, and to which time proffers no solace this side the 
tomb ? ” asked Aluine, weeping. 


84 


C R I M 0 E A . 


All are the result of never-varying laws, of accident, 
or of our own actions,’’ responded Alfierderiflo. God is 
good ! His works. His laws were perfect from the first. 
He fashioned this round ball, hove it out into boundless 
space, and bade it whirl in order ; — in order it has rolled 
on, and will roll on eternally, nor needs His further 
mandate. Man He created perfect, and in His own 
image, and, endowing him with reason — a divine princi- 
ple of all snfficieM potency — vouchsafes to him no further 
guidance or protection.” 

Say not so ! ” exclaimed Aluine, in trepidation; for 
my soul would sink beneath these waves of trouble, did I 
not feel that God heard my prayers, and sustained me ! ” 
Aye ! He does hear thee, dear Lorma ; and ages 
before thou wert born, did answer thee; but to change 
the course of things, even at thy sweet pleadings. He will 
not. I know that queens and beggar-mothers, through 
long, long nights, on their knees, on the cold, damp stones 
of dungeons, in the tearful agony of their whole souls have 
pleaded with the Almighty to save their husbands and 
children from death ; yet to death, ignominious and 
fearful, they were given. For eighteen hundred years, 
the whole Christian Church has been asking for the 
conversion of the Heathen, yet the so-called Heathen 
have not been converted.” 

Then, must I not pray, dear Fiello ? ” 

Yes, angel Aluine, you must pray ; for you have but 
just now confessed to me that it sustained you ; therefore, 
it is a blessing to you, as an acknowledgement of depen- 
dence on a Supreme Being is to the whole human family. 
But we must add to our prayer — ‘ Thy will be done, 
not ours.’ ” 


CRIMORA. 


85 


And is that all we must expect from prayer ? ” asked 
Aluine. 

Is not that enough ? ’’ replied Fiello, affectionately. 
Would you change the high purposes of the Almighty ? 
Does He not know, think you, the errand on which He 
has sent His creations ? ” 

Indeed, indeed, I will be humble before Him ! ” 
responded Aluine, solemnly, as a conviction crept into her 
heart, that she had been presumptuous. 

The same rough storm,” continued Alfierdermo, 
that dashes on the rocks the too ready bark, and drowns 
the shriek of the dying mariner, for whose safety are 
ascending from fond hearts most fervid supplications, may 
be bearing to the bosoms of others, forms equally dear. 
The mother, who, on this continent, prays for a fair wind 
for her child returning from sea, would defer the happi- 
ness of another mother on the other continent, praying, 
too, for her child’s speedy arrival. Were you the one 
whose happiness was delayed, would you not say, you 
were doomed to suffer? ” 

God is love, and dooms no one to suffering ; and a re- 
signation to His eternal, unchanging laws — not to an 
arbitrary and swerving will — is but simple justice to Him, 
proper credit to our understandings, and the truest means 
of avoiding mortal ills.” 

But how are we to know when we err, good Fiel’lo ? ” 

If you clasp the wild tiger in your arms, does he not 
tear you ? And if you fold to your heart that which is as 
apposite to its nature, is the result different ? Would you 
hug to your snowy bosom the scorpion that would sting 
you ? And yet would you nurse in your soul objects aUke* 
8 


86 


CmMORA. 


deadly to your peace as those are to yoiu* body, and think 
to live happily ?” 

Aluine buried her face in her hands as though some 
frightful being rose before her ; and as the tears trickled 
between her fingers, half pleading, half imperatively, re- 
plied: — Say no more, for heaven’s sake, dear Fiello ! 
for I understand you ; and while I see the truth, I recoil 
at it, because it so differs from all I have been taught from 
childhood up. Say no more now, but let me think and 
ponder well on what words you have already uttered, and 
when we meet again, I will tell you my thoughts.” 

“ Forgive me, precious one, if my sentiments have 
caused you a tear. Far was such a desire from my heart, 
though I own I would shake to its very foundations the 
rock of custom on which you have tried to repose, — the 
want of confidence in your Maker’s goodness, and in his 
desire for your happiness. God has given you your reason, 
mind, spirit — thus much of His own image — to guide 
you, and He will not stay you in your course, seeking the 
evil or the good ; else He would have stood between Eve 
and temptation, when she put forth her hand to pluck the 
fruit of the tree of knowledge. But I cannot but believe 
that if He ever mourns, it is to see the power of custom, the 
laws of a stiff-necked generation, usurping the place of that 
seat in our souls He himself had dedicated to Wisdom.” 

What, then, would you have me do, dear Fiello ? ” 
said Aluine, anxious, yet still afraid, to continue the sub- 
ject. 

Search out the origin of your feeling that your Creator 
desires you to live a life of misery here. Why, if in ig- 
norance you grasp the burning iron, you should cling to it 


CRIMOR A. 


87 


though it shrivels the flesh to the bones, and makes the 
once fair arm a pitiable member of the body it should hap- 
pily adorn. Ask yourself whether there is anything more 
diabolical than the power, whether it be civil or religious 
by name, which forces you to drag out in bitterness of 
heart your whole existence, because in a moment of youth- 
ful indiscretion you made a wrong choice — because you 
were not infallible^ while infallibility is a prerogative of 
God only. In all else, one is allowed to change his mind 
and condition ; but here, an arbitrary, disinterested, in- 
human, dogmatical edict, or statute, assumes a power over 
an immortal creature God intended his judgment alone 
should assume.’’ 

Alas ! alas ! ” responded Aluine, it is too true ; the 
Reason, the Soul, is thenceforth useless as regards one’s 
condition, when once within the pale of that infamous law ; 
infamous, I perceive, for in its crude length and breadth, 
it claims the right to crush within our own bosoms our im- 
mortal spirits. But pardon me now ; I am too confused to 
talk, or hardly think of, the great field of thought now 
opened before me. Go, dearest Fiello, and when w'e meet 
stgain, I will have examine^, attentively all you have in 
kindness spoken.” 


88 


C E I M 0 R A 


CHAPTER X. 


Faint shadows lay along the way, 

’Twas near the close of day, 

And slowly there a lady fair 
Was w'alking in her pride. 

Alone walked she — but viewlessly, 

AValked spirits at her side. 

Peace charmed the street beneath her feet. 

And Honor charmed the air; 

And all astir looked kind on her, 

And called her good as fair — 

For all God ever gave to her 
She kept with chary care. 

She kept with care her beauties rare 
From lovers warm and true — 

For her heart was cold to all but gold, 

And the rich came not to woo ; 

But honored well are charms to sell. 

If tests the selling do. 

Now walking there was one more fair — 

A slight girl, lily pale ; 

And she had unseen company 
To make the spirit quail — 

^Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn. 

And nothing could avail. 

v» * 

No mercy now can clear her brow 
For this world’s peace to pray ; 

For as Love’s wild prayer dissolved in air, 

Her woman’s heart gave way ! — 

But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven 
By man is cursed alway ! ” 

For several weeks Aluine pondered over the. subject 
she and Alfierdermo had last discussed ; and day by day, 
seeking the throne of grace for knowledge to guide her in 
the ways of rectitude, approved by the Deity, became 
more and more convinced that sl>e had for vears been 


89 


9 

CiaiMORA* 

\injust to herself and to- her Creator. Morning, noon, and 
night, she would retire * to her private chamber, and, 
kneeling by a chair on which the Bible lay open, would 
pray : Father in heaven ! grant unto me that divine light 
so essential to those who would traverse the, paths of 
wisdom. Parent of love ! imbue my heart, animate my 
soul, with the spirit of every virtue that is commendable 
in thy sight. Grod of truth ! strengthen my faith, that I 
may be victorious in my contest with evil. Almighty 
Ruler ! calm the tempests that may gather about me, and 
pillow my head on the true faith. Merciful Saviour! 
bring me at last within the compass of thy grace, that I 
may dwell forever with Thee in Paradise.’’ 

At each meeting subsequent to the one in which Alfier- 
dermo had commented on his friend’s faith, he questioned 
her closely in regard to the progress she made in searching 
after truth ; for he knew well that as the highest sense of 
moral rectitude would ever constitute the basis of her 
actions, she never could find happiness in this world till 
she had uprooted, overthrown, and buried in oblivion, the 
unnatural — therefore not of God; the un-Christian — 
therefore not of Christ — oflSces, or conventional forms, 
society, with its distorted fantasies, had thrust upon her. 
If she continued in the belief that God designed that she, 
whose soul was as pure an emanation of goodness as ever 
partook of mortality, (if we except the child of tlie Holy 
Mary), should find this world a vale of thorns, she would, 
with naked feet trailing the way with blood, walk down 
the path of life, and welcome the teanb. This, Alfierdermo 
felt, was a sacrifice little pleasing to the sight of a loving, 
8 ^ 


90 


C.RlMO!i A. 


humane, and consistent Creator ; and he sought with a 
guileless heart to avert it. * • 

“Fiello,” said Aluine, one evening, her eyes filled with 
tears, I have this wFole day been praying to my 
heavenly Father to forgive me for having thpught Him so 
unkind towards one of his own feeble children. I am 
convinced that my wTetchedness 'was never designed by 
Him ; and that its remedy is within my owm power. Still 
the thought of making one unhappy whom I have sworn 

to’’ and here some word choked her utterance — 

honor and obey ; the combat I must sustain with society, 
relatives, friends, who know' nothing of my nature, nothing 
of my soul’s longings and aspirations, must bind me to my 
cruel Yow. Oh, Fiello ! Fiello ! ” and she flung herself 
on her knees at his feet, and sobbed as though her very 
heart was riven in tw’^ain ; forgive me, if I w'ound you 
now' ; but I must abide the sacrifice. I must ! I must ! 
I must ! ” 

Kise, rise, dearest Lorma,” said Alfierdermo, taking 
• her clasped hands in his ; it too sorely grieves me to see 
those tears, and more to witness that struggle of tender- 
ness with fear. Eise, and sit you here ; and let me kneel 
before and it v/ill remind me of a joy I hope to have 
in heaven — the bowing dowm before the angels.” 

Aluine arose and seated herself beside her lover, still 
allowing her hands to remain in his ; and though she spoke 
not, Alfierdermo saw the melancholy of soul wdth w'hich 
she was struggling. Her large liquid eyes had lost none 
of their expression, and they now revealed a depth of 
despair bordering on madness. 

‘^Aluine! dear Aluine!” exclaimed Alfierdermo, ‘‘I 
cannot see you suffer thus. T cannot longer endure it. 


CRIMORA. 


91 


Yet, Oh ! where shall I fly, to escape from my own misery 
and save you ? If I leave you, I am plunged into the 
depths of woe ; if I stay, your own unhappiness kills me. 
Oh ! could I but persuade you to view life as your Creator 
designed you should, you could be at least partially happy . 
yourself, and save me from long years of fearful anguish.’’ 

Show me but the way, dearFiello,” murmured Aluine, ^ 
show how I can make you happy, and not cause others 
to mourn, I will be your willing slave for ever — aye, 
for ever! ” 

I seek not my own happiness alone, sweet Aluine ; 
nor would I accept it if it compromised yours ; but since 
our first meeting our hearts have been one, and no joy nor 
sorrow enters into that breast wFich does not find an echo 
in my own. When, then, I talk of the happiness of one, 
it is of the happiness of both ; but the bitter draught seems 
all gathering in my own cup ; for, knowing that you had 
shaken off those prejudices wliich tended only to make you 
miserable, I trusted that on this night — this, my last 
night- — I should be permitted almost to call you mine.” 

Your laiit night I ” exclaimed Aluine, while a dizziness 
filled her brain, and her body reeled as if about to fall ; 

for heaven’s sake, say quickly what you mean. You 
would not leave me in the midst of this sea of wretched- 
ness, to sink, to die, unpitied and alone ? You would 
not desert me, after I had told you my life was yours — 
that I would be. your willing slave for ever ? You would 
not tear yourself from my heart, which you and my God 
alone occupy, — you who make its only heaven, its sun- 
shine and its joys ? ” 


92 


CHIMOEA . 


“ Struggling to abide by vows you could never fulfil,^’ 
replied Alfierdermo, — fearing reproach from a few who 
would not lift a finger to make you happy, but who would 
do much to destroy you, when, seeking your own happi- 
ness, you deserted their uncharitable ranks — are sufficient 
^ to warn me from your sainted presence, ever adorable 
Aluine ; but they are not the cause of the adieu I must 
soon bid you. This evening, I have received despatches 
from Italy, stating that my father is dangerously ill, and 
requires my immediate presence. I therefore must leave 
you to-morrow.” 

To-morrow ! ” sobbed Aluine ; to-morrovr ? It is 
too soon ; and Oh, my heart tells me you will not come 
again. These eyes will never more gaze on that dear 
form ; these arms will never again be twined round that 
dear neck ; these hands will feel no more that gentle pres- 
sure of your own, which so thrills my frame and tells me 
of your love. Oh, cruel fate ! Oh, cruel destiny ! ” and 
leaning her head upon the bosom of her lover — for that 
was its true and holy place — she' shed scalding tears. 

As God is my witness,” replied Alfierdermo, with a 
most sacred earnestness, I pledge my word, my honor, 
and my faith, never to desert you ; ” and he folded the 
luxuriant form of the fair distracted creature to his wildly 
throbbing bosom. “ But oh ! sweet, precious Aluine, such 
oaths are all superfluous ; for our Creator fashioned our 
hearts for each other, by their every sympathy and tasto^ 
by their every aspiration ; and no mortal power, no dis-. 
tance, no time can separate them may I not then call 
you all, all mine ? ” 


Had paradise opened its bright portals to her wondering 
gaze, and the silver-winged occupants had beckoned her in 
— its strange sjDlendor would have paled before the vision 
which the uncurtaining of the fair drapery of her dreams 
now revealed to her; — it would have sunk into insignifi- 
cance before that delicious ecstacy of soul, created in its 
recipiency of a sister spirit, — the commingling of heart 
with heart, of life with life. Aluine was happy ; she saw 
the brightness of life as it should have dawned upon her on 
her wedding morning, and Alfierdermo was blessed. 

Night glided away like a friendly spectre, and Aurora 
looked in upon these happy hearts, and bade them hope 
and trust in each other. Thej^ did hope, they did trust, 
and their bliss would have been unalloyed had not the hour 
of separation arrived. But now, no more vows were 
plighted, no word of farewell spoken. With one wild em- 
brace, with tears rolling down between their parting lips, 
they separated — perhaps to meet again. 

Alfierdermo had his baggage all prepared before he left 
his hotel, and on his return, though he felt little like jour- 
neying, ordered a carriage and started at once towards 
home.' How different now were the thoughts and feelings 
he cherished, from those which occupied his mind when, a 
few months previous, he drove through the same streets on 
his return from Italy. Then he said to himself, with a 
forced gaiety and recklessness : Since, by my father’s 
kindness to me — by the education he has given me, to 
make me his double debtor, I am compelled to unite my- 
self in legal bonds with one with -whom my heart has 
nothing do do, I will try and find some compensation for 
my sacrifice, in those scenes of hilarity which are said to 


94 


CRIMORA. 


be the sovereign remedies for all distress. I will not iryure 
any one but myself, nor will I go so far as to bring any 
disgrace upon my well-meaning sire ; but I will, by such a 
constant succession of appointed amusements, so occupy 
my waking hours, that not a thought of my own soul’s 
young aspirations, nor of her whom I feel sure it was my 
heart’s destiny to love, shall ever throw its sombre shadows 
over them. If death comes soon, so much the more wel- 
come ; for what is life without love. God himself is love. 
Love is the element of divinity, the element of all hu- 
man felicity, and man is but a beast without it.” Noiv^ as 
the carriage rolled on, bearing him every moment nearer 
to a sick father, there was in his brain a medley of much 
that was beautiful and sad, romantic and sincere, but all 
tinged with a glow of pure and sacred reality. It would 
be sad, sad indeed,” he would say to himself, “to see my 
poor father cold in death, without power to make a particle 
of his hoarded treasures, which he has heaped up with so 
much care, contribute to his happiness ; yet, I hope, in 
charity, there will be goodness enough in his heart to find 
him, through the mercy of the Saviour in whom he trusts, 
a resting place in paradise. I am to see one, too^, whom 
the called holy men have said is my wife. But oh ! what 
fallacy ! How little did they know or care of the lie they .r 
were uttering. Had they pronounced me wedded to one 
of the cold marble columns'' of the Annunciata, they would 
have done their duty with as much truthfulness and reli- 
gion, — and I should have embraced ray bride with as 
much warmth of soul and love, as I shall now. God for- 
give me ! for it was not of my seeking. Everything, how.- 
ever, looks more cheerful to me now, and I feel a peculiar 


CKIMORA. 


95 


and most sincere gratitude to my Maker, that He permit- 
ted me to enjoy the treasures of my own heart — treasures 
that find not value in accumulation, but in losing them- 
selves mid those of others. I am a changed being. God 
seems to me very good, and I love all that He has created, 
and it is all beautiful. I desire now, instead of wasting 
my energies in dissipation, to grow 'in knowledge, to in- 
crease in goodness, to enlarge my mental capacities, to 
walk onward and upward towards perfection ; and though 
the road might be fough and tedious, it would be a sweet 
and pleasant journey if my companion could be the wedded 
one of my soul.” 

On the departure of Alfierdermo, Aluine retired to rest 
to repair the fatigues of a sleepless night. Oh ! how bliss- 
ful now was every thought of the future! Her heart, 
joying in its confident companionship, was winged with 
love’s brightest plumage, and it 'went floating away in an 
atmosphere so pure and spiritual, that it reached even the 
portals of heaven, and could hardly have been required to 
experience a change to enter the holy mansion of the 
Deity. Many would have believed that this love for 
Alfierdermo would give her a distaste for every thing that 
bore no direct relationship to him ; but it was entirely the 
reverse. On her wedding morning, she had felt a strange 
repugnance — unanalyzed, indeed, to herself — to the step 
she was about to take, and many times found herself 
pausing to contemplate self-destruction. She felt that her 
soul — her real life was dormant, and that she was soon to 
bury it forever. As* the bride of Mr. Jones, she was 
expected to be as gay, cheerful , and happy as she always 


96 


C R I M 0 R A . 


had been in her father’s mansion ; and though this jocun- 
dity would doubtless generally be other than the sponta- 
neous gushings of an untrammelled spirit, she was to m'hni- 
fest it to please Mr. Jones, and Mr. Jones’s friends. She 
was to be admired and caressed by one, courted and flat- 
tered by another, complimented and praised by a third ; 
and it all bore to her, though she hardly knew why, a 
more sombre aspect than the very gates of the grave. 
Was she not to blame, then, for taking this step ? No ; 
for the combination of influences, and the absence of that 
which would have at once revealed to her the true nature 
of her position, were sufiicient to control so unsophisticated 
a creature ; but he who sought her hand — who was 
enough read in characters to discern the perfect spiritu- 
ality of this beautiful girl, and discover how unlike himself 
she was — wronged her most cruelly, did his own naturally 
generous impulses great injustice, and deserved to suffer. 
He bore the tender lily from the placid and genial waters, 
on whose bosom it had lain and bloomed sweetly, to cast it 
on a tumultuous sea, where rude storms would tear it, and 
where its simple loveliness and delicate perfume would be 
utterly valueless. 

I have said that Aluine was wretched when she finally 
resolved to give herself away to Mr. Jones ; but now, 
when contemplating her souVs treasure in Alfierdermo, 
she was filled with transcendant beatitude. She would 
say to herself, He will love me so wildly, write to me so 
sweetly, that the very earth will become a paradise. Each 
day, for one hour, and at the same time, we shall both be 
kneeling at the throne * of grace, enjoying that spiritual 


CRIMOR^. 


97 


communion with our Maker, and with each other, which is 
the dear earnest of our future inheritance. This will be 
my inward life, and will not interfere with the claiij^s my 
— husband lias upon me. Ah no ! I shall go more cheer- 
fully to my duties, and I know that my happy looks and 
lively manners will satisfy Mr. Jones and his* many 
friends.’’ 


9 


98 


CRIMORA . 


4 


CHAPTER XI. 

Mr. Jones, on returning home, found a cheerful and 
joyous companion. A few days previous, when he had 
taken leave of her, it was with sad forebodings of the future 
— for he saw that his Aluine was really distressed about 
something beyond his control. His going, or his coming, 
never awakened any emotions of regret or gladness, and 
her life seemed aimless and spiritless ; but now there was 
an evident pleasure at his arrival. Joined to that elegance 
of manner which was habitual with her, there was an 
earnestness in what she did that captivated him anew, and 
he could not resist turning to his friends, and saying, I 
told you I had a treasure — look you, and see how she 
loves me.” 

Mr. J ones’s friends, as usual, looked further behind the 
curtain than he did. They liked the man much, for he 
was an excellent companion, benevolent, and full of good 
humor, and they were not anxious to disturb him in the 
self-satisfaction he enjoyed in believing that all the world 
extolled him. They saw, however, in the expression of 
the young bride, a covert and mysterious sadness the hus- 
band had never penetrated. They saw in her sensitive- 
ness — in her retiring delicacy of deportment — in a 
refined hauteur^ something that had no kinship with Mr. 
Jones. 


CEIMORA. 


, 99 

Months passed away, and Aluine grew ill, and finally 
begged of Mr. Jones permission to visit some of her rela- 
tives in Scotland. Mr. Jones, sufficiently alarmed to allow 
her any liberty she might desire, assented at once — he 
even hastened every preparation for the journey. He 
procured an easy carriage, fine horses, good servants, and 
would have prepared himself to accompany her, had not 
political affairs, in which both his money and ambitious 
views were at stake, wholly precluded the possibility. 

How great was Aluine Lorma’s relief when she found 
herself en route ! Though she was sometimes trembling 
with fear for the result of her present proceedings, an 
unaccountably felicitous spirit buoyed her up, and ren- 
dered the ride both short and grateful to her. Fortu- 
nately, nothing occurred on the way to mar her happy 
train of thoughts. When arrived at Glasgow, she took 
lodgings in a narrow street at some distance from St. 
George’s Square — a place sought out more for its retired- 
ness than comfort — where for many weeks she gradually 
declined, till her life was almost despaired of. A favora- 
ble crisis, however, accrued, and she speedily recovered. 

During her absence from home, Aluine’s letters to Mr. 
Jones were full of tenderness, kindness, good will, and most 
sincere and heartfelt desire for his happiness. Mr. Jones 
expressed himself anxious to send to her everything that 
could make her comfortable, and desired her return as 
soon as she felt it consistent with the state of her health. 
His last epistle ran thus : — 


Dear Wife : — 

I am delighted to hear from you again, and to learn 
that you are fast recovering, and will soon be at home. 


100 


CRIMORA. 


The political excitement here is still immense, and 
rather on the increase. Night and day, I devote myself 
to the interests of my party ; but I intend to pay myself 
for it by a few good fox-hunts, as soon as the election 
is over. 

Lord Fitzlace and Admiral Leclurc dined with me yes- 
terday, and of course we were very happy. They inquired 
' after you. 

Your affectionate husband, 

Jones.’’ 

A letter from Alfierdermo ran thus : — 

‘‘Ever adored — My loved and lovely Lorma: — 

My heart has been more than blessed to-day in my 
reception of your little note, written, you say, in bed. 
You are recovering, and I will join you in praising our 
good Father — if you will — and good fortune, that have 
saved both you and me. Had I known of your illness, no 
power on earth could have kept me from your side, though 
I own, that as my parent declines towards the grave I feel 
more and more attached to him, and am less loth to leave 
him to the care of others. 

But how is it, beautiful Aluine, that you have so long 
been ill, and not advised me of it ? You thought it would 
alarm me, and consequently you did not write ! You are 
ever kind, and day by day seem more worthy my soul’s 
idolatry ; and did I think you ever for a moment doubted 
my love, I would renew the oath I gave you at our last 
meeting. 

Covered with a thousand kisses, your dear precious note 
feels each throb of my ‘heart; and in my bosom it will 


CRIMORA. 


101 


remain, till an answer to this takes its place. I dare not 
remark on what you have told me ; but if you love me, 
believe my feelings are such as you would have them be. 
With one wild, long, sweet embrace, adieu, — fair light of 
my soul. 

Fiello.’^ 

As soon as Aluine had suflSciently recovered to travel, 
she returned to London ; but her pale, emaciated features, 
which told of the severity of her illness, made her almost 
unrecognizable even by Mr. Jones himself. A few weeks, 
however, of repose, restored her once more to her place at 
the festive board, and though all expressed their joy at 
seeing her again in their midst, they were saddened by a 
conviction that something sat like a cruel weight upon her 
heart. Her husband and his friends rallied her on her 
change of appearance, and the dejected manner that con- 
stantly accompanied her. She confessed that her serious 
illness had changed her much, but begged of them to spare 
her feelings for awhile, w^hen she should be wholly impreg- 
nable ; for her shattered nerves could not as yet endure 
much excitement, even of the pleasurable kind. 

It so happened, that the house to which Mrs. Jones 
retired in Glasgow, was near to Mr. Smithers’s sister’s 
residence. The arrival of a stranger in the street was a 
matter of some importance, and all wished to know about 
it. Through Mrs. Jones’s servant, Mr. Smithers’s sister 
found out that the young lady who was from London, and 
very ill, was no less than half sister to her brother’s wdfe. 
This was of momentous interest, and she at once commenced 
with her brother a correspondence, which finally went into 
9 ^ 


102 


CRIMORA. 


the minutest detail of all the movements of Mrs. Jones — 
the state of her health — cause of illness — prospect of 
recovery, &c., &c. The nature of this correspondence 
tended to arous^e in both Mr. and Mrs. Smithers’ minds the 
greatest anxiety, and they took measures to have Miss 
Wellington sent up to take special care of the invalid. 
The cause of the care she bestowed, we shall have occa- 
sion to explain in a future chapter. 

We will not suppose that Mr. and Mrs. Smithers sent 
up Miss Wellington from mere feelings of humanity. Mr. 
and Mrs. Smithers had perhaps the same end in view ; 
but the direct incentives to his actions were very different 
from those of his wife. Mr. Smithers’s motive we will not 
here remark on. Mrs. Smithers, from the night of the 
w^edding in which she was much with the Italian, and for 
whom she had conceived a violent passion, had been de- 
voured by jealousy of her half-sister, arising from the par- 
tiality the youth had evinced for her. Subsequently, 
though Mrs. Smithers had succeeded in keeping him most 
of the time with herself — had shown him more attentions 
than are usually necessary for a conquest — had taken him 
to rides in the country, to church, and striven, with most 
affectionate zeal, to convert him to the Episcopal faith — 
though she left no art unemployed that she was capable of 
exercising, and might have wrung from him, as a matter of 
courtesy, occasional recognitions of her devotion, her love 
assumed the character of hate, and in her firm resolve to 
w’atch narrowly her beautiful rival, between whom and 
Alfierdermo she was convinced there was some secret 
understanding — there was a determination to make them 
both miserable. 


CRIMORA. 


103 


CHAPTEE XII, 

Mrs. Smithers, on the morning of the departure of 
Alfierdermo, visited Mrs. Jones to acquire, in her pecu- 
culiar way, some information ; she having been apprised 
that Alfierdermo called the evening previous on her 
sister, and had not left at a late hour. 

Mr. Jones has not yet returned from the North, good 
sister ? ’’ asked Mrs. Smithers, with a sanctified expres- 
sion. 

Not yet, though I momentarily expect him, and hope 
for his arrival.” 

Hope ! ” said Mrs. Smithers rather sarcastically, and 
watching the expression of Mrs. Jones’s face, — Hope ? ” 
Why, how can you hope he will soon come, when you have 
so good a companion in his absence.” 

‘‘ You refer, I suppose,” said Aluine very calmly, and 
with a shade of melancholy, to Signor Alfierdermo ? 
He is, indeed, a good and noble-hearted companion, but 
he has left for Italy.” 

I am sorry, Mrs. Jones,” replied Mrs. Smithers, re- 
proachfully, you should stoop to falsehood, for a person 
told me that il Signor Italiano was here last night till a late 
hour.” 

And so he was, Mrs. Smithers, but he left this morn- 
ing for his native land, and now I am lonesome indeed.” 


104 


CRIMORA. 


Mrs. Smithers bit her lip, and grew red with anger at 
the coolness of her half-sister, and at her own stupidity in 
betraying the fact that she had kept a watch over the 
actions of Mrs. Jones and Alfierdermo. She became al- 
most furious when she thought, too, that Alfierdermo had 
spent perhaps all the night with Mrs. Jones, and had not 
so much as called on her to say adieu, when leaving the 
country. Had Mrs. Smithers believed that the young man 
had gone forever, she would have found consolation in 
knowing that while she was deprived of his bland society, 
her half-sister, whom, she more than half suspected loved 
him deeply, had lost a devoted admirer, and could no longer 
be considered a rival. 

It is well, I think, that he has gone,’’ said Mrs. 
Smithers, for I assure you, my dear sister, if he had re- 
mained here, and continued his visits as often as he was 
accustomed to, you would have been scandalized by our 
whole neighborhood,” and Mrs. Smithers elongated her 
physiognomy and looked saintly. 

There are few people in our neighborhood, or any 
other,” replied Mrs. Jones, with as contemptuous an ex- 
pression as her angehc face could put on, ‘‘ whose opinions 
are of sufficient import to cause m.e to deviate in the slight- 
est degree from that course which my own judgment points 
out to me as right, and which my own happiness requires. 
My neighbors, doubtless, do what pleases them, — go 
where it pleases them, — eat, sleep, and drink when it 
pleases them, and I do not question their right to do so ; 
and while I consider a prying, meddling, prattling woman 
more despicable and a greater bane to society than the 
most common and abandoned of our sex — more to be 


CKIMOR A . 


105 


shunned than the leprous-tainted vagabond, I sincerely 
pity them for the smallness of their souls, for the meanness 
of their occupation, and for the loss of that inward satisfac- 
tion there is in having one’s own happiness not depend upon 
a knowledge of the conduct, good or bad — the foibles of 
others.” 

This came so cuttingly home to Mrs. Smithers — she 
was so intensely stung, that she could not help replying, 
though it would have been better for her to have said 
nothing till she became more collected. She, however, 
had now added a million fold to fier original dislike of her 
half-sister, and she resolved to destroy her if possible. 
The very temper and spirit which Mrs. Jones had been 
decrying were quickened in her to a double activity, and 
with the rapidity of thought, she planned in her own mind, 
— if certain events occurred which she might reasonably 
anticipate, — the means by which she could embitter 
Aluine’s whole life. 

‘‘And that is your opinion, is it, Mrs. Jones ? ” said 
Mrs. Smithers, as the fire flashed from her little snakey 
eyes ; “ you would uphold the dissolute, w’^ould you, and 
decry those respectable members of society whose duty it 
is to watch over their friends, and see that they are not led 
•into temptation ? Indeed, I hardly expected this from^ow, 
Mrs. Jones ; though I suppose you have your private mo- 
tives for wishing to elevate . a certain class, so that your 
own fall may be lessened.” 

“ I beg you will excuse me from making any reply to 
your last remarks,” said Mrs. Jones, wdth much calmness, 
“ though, in justice to a portion of our sex to whom you 
refer, I ought perhaps to do so.” 


106 


CRIMORA. 


“ You probably have many of your oxdre notions of 
society from your Italian friend ; pray give us some of 
them,’’ said Mrs. Smithers, with a look which said — I 
have already doomed you ; let us see how you will sustain 
yourself.” 

To some extent you are right,” replied Mrs. Jones. 

Signor Fiello Alfierdermo I always found entertaining 
and instructive. His knowledge w^as not so much derived 
from books as from observation (for he had travelled the 
world over), and his own strong, natural good sense. His 
words were always those of ^ truth and soberness,’ and I 
own they went far towards making me more tolerant — far 
towards divesting me of the restraint — the succumbing to 
the conventional forms with which our English society had 
enslaved me.” 

More tolerant, eh !” interrupted Mrs. Smithers, is 
there anything, without the pale of the Episcopal Church 
that can be tolerated at all ? ” 

From a remark you made a few moments since, I am 
well aware of your opinion of me, and what I am about to 
say will not tend to change it ; yet, I am as confident as 
that I exist, that our people, more especially the females, 
are greatly in error in regard to the treatment of those of 
our sex whom they say have ‘ fallen.’ In Italy and Spain, 
where true gallantry and Catholic piety are dominant, no 
such class exists. If you say, there is more licentiousness 
in those countries than in all others, I shall answer — that 
to God only they are accountable ; and I take not judg- 
ment into my hands lest I be judged. That charity which 
becomes a Christian — that true philanthropic spirit which 
becomes a noble heart, prevails throughout the length and 


CRIMORA. 


107 


breadth of those lands in respect to individual morals ; and 
the consequence is, there are none of those horrible haunts 
of vice, none of those dens of infamy, which abound in all 
our large towns ; and none of those peculiarly degrading 
sights which are momentarily thrust before us, when of an 
evening we walk our great thoroughfares. To remove this 
dark cloud — so freighted with pestilence and death — 
which hangs over our vast city, what effort, or what sacrifice 
would you think too great ? You would answer — ^ None.’ 
Now, Mrs. Smithers, let me assure you, that no sacrifice is 
required — unless it be the sacrifice of malicious hearts,” 
and here Mrs. Smithers winced and turned red again, — 
“ and no effort is required but that which enables you to 
fulfil the injunction of our Divine Master : — ‘ Have 
charity,’ that ^ charity which thinketh no evil.’ ” 

“ This is the stuff that has been preached to you by the 
Italian,” said Mrs. Smithers, with much bitterness. 

It is the stuff, if you will call it so,” replied Mrs. 
Jones, which I have gathered from common sense, from 
my observation of the practical result of this angelic princi- 
ple as exercised in other countries ; and did I need other 
authority, I would quote the example of the Saviour him- 
self, who did not feel too holy to talk with the ^ fallen 
ones,’ counsel them, and pardon them.” 

It is downright profanity ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Smithers, 
in an angry tone. 

“ Jfeel it to be the perfection of true religion,” mildly 
responded Aluine. 

Because the Saviour, in his purity, could touch them 
without being contaminated, you would thrust them, 
with all their vileness, upon society, — make them our 
companions, and oblige us to talk with them.” 


108 


CRIMORA. 


We seldom know to whom we are talking,” replied 
Aluine, with dignified calmness and manner which she saw 
was her greatest weapon of defence ; and those whom 
we think to be, and who call themselves our friends, may, 
at the very moment we are uttering words which show our 
trust in them, be plotting in their inmost hearts, our 
very misery and ruin.” 

Biting devil ! ” Mrs. Smithers would have uttered, had 
she said anything ; but the truth that had been spoken — 
as prophetic an answer to her own vile intentions as could 
be — actually smothered her with confusion. 

‘‘ Those whom we take by the hand — whom we love — 
who are our daily companions, may be vastly more vile in 
the sight of their Creator, than many whom we point the 
finger of derision and contempt at, and drive to utter despair. 
If we were not /mYe creatures, — if we had the power to 
read souls, we might judge without the fear of being 
falsely ; but, since we are but mortals, let us leave 
to jEKm who ‘ searchest the hearts and tryest the reins ” of 
all, judgment which will be immaculate and unerring.” 

“ Have you lost all reason ? ” interrogated Mrs. Smith- 
ers, with great earnestness. Do you not suppose /know 
the character of those with whom I associate ? ” 

‘‘ I must do you the justice to say, I think you do not 
always know, else you would not have thought so highly of 
your two clerical friends of whom I have often heard you 
speak; — the late bishop, one, whom you say has been 
found guilty of most shameful acts. That beautiful lady, too, 
so long your bosom cpmpanian, was, you say, at the very 
time you were most attached to her, the mistress of Lord 
Strelesly.” 


CRIMORA . 


109 


“ Yes, yes, Aluine, I own that to be true ; but those are 
exceptions, and we generally know,’’ said Mrs. Smithers, in 
a much more subdued and humble tone. 

‘‘ We never know,” replied Aluine, with the dignity of 
truth ; — God only knows ; so I pray with all fervor, 

‘ God grant I may have charity,’ ” 

Well, Mrs. Jones, you can associate with whom you 
please, but you may rest assured that no one not of the 
highest respectability, shall ever enter my doors. Nor 
will I believe that there is or can be one not within the 
pale of our pure old Church of England, who is worthy of 
my respect ; and I hope the ’time will come when every one 
not professing our creed will be driven from the land or 
burned at the stake.” 

‘‘ You cannot certainly mean, Mrs. Smithers,” said 
Aluine, much affected, ‘‘ that persecution should again 
light the faggot, open the dungeon, and sharpen the axe, 
to gratify its fiendish appetite.” 

There is no dungeon deep enough, dark enough, dis- 
mal enough,” replied Mrs. Smithers, “ for those who will 
not uphold our Church, and I would myself light the fag- 
got if I could consume every heretic that breathes.” 

“ I thank God,” said Aluine, as if only^peaking to her 
own heart, that intelligence, which generates humanity 
and ^ good will towards man,’ has been diffusing its benefi- 
cent light throughout the world, and that there is now- 
little persecution ^ for conscience’ sake,’ except, perhaps, in 
the Papal States, where ignorance still shrouds their 
rulers.” 

This is all of the same spirit, Mrs. Jones,” said Mrs. 
Smithers, taking the remark as a personal insult. You 
10 


110 


CRIMORA. 


would have me believe that people in this corrupt age are 
better than when they were compelled to be good.’’ 

‘‘ The dissolute lives of the Popes — the superstition, 
crime and poverty which crowd around the very steps of 
the papal throne, go far to convince me that God could 
never have intended the hierarchy of Rome to be the re- 
presentative, on earth, of His wisdom and mercy ; nor can 
I believe that the cruelties practiced by our more modern 
church were ever designed by our beneficent Creator to 
promote Christianity. Priests in their saintly robes, judges 
in their sapient wigs, were looked up to as infallible. 
Now, we know them to have been base, inhuman, selfish, 
bigoted, and without the necessary qualifications to make 
wise laws, or to administer justice. Many of their sen- 
tences, reputed the acme of erudition, and noted down 
with all gravity as oracles, are now laughed at, and have 
long been set aside as the crude productions of ignorance 
and superstition.” 

Indeed ! You speak like an oracle, yourself,” said 
Mrs. Smithers, contemptuously. 

“ I do not mean to say,” continued Aluine, that at 
this present time our judges are all just, our priests all 
holy, or our l^s all good ; on the contrary, I am morally 
certain that there is much to be reformed — much cruelty 
in our statute book, much impiety and duphcity in the 
church, much that is radically wrong everywhere.” 

“ I think they had better appoint you to revise the stat- 
utes,” said Mrs. Smithers, in derision. 

A fool may sometimes counsel wisely,” responded 
Aluine, with sweet humility. 


CEIMORA. 


Ill 


‘‘ So seldom, that I think I will take my leave,’’ said 
Mrs. Smithers, rising and retiring with a dignity which 
she intended to have say to her half-sister — she nei- 
ther considered her any longer a relative, or worthy of her 
esteem. 


112 


CRIMORA. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

We have said that Mr. and Mrs. Smithers had different 
motives for sending Miss Wellington up to Glasgow. 

The observations which Mrs. Smithers had made on 
Miss Wellington, — and which somewhat reflected on her 
respectability, — Mr. Smithers saw, day by day, there 
was a growing cause for ; and as there was an excuse for 
her going away, he resolved to despatch her as soon as 
possible, and never let her enter his house again. 

The same evening in which Mr. Smithers had received 
a letter from his sister — stating the condition of Mrs. 
Jones at Glasgow — he wrote a hasty note, and slipped it 
into the hands of Miss Wellington. It ran thus : — 

My dear Margaret, 

Please call at my office to-morrow morning at ten 
o’clock — come the back way. I shall be alone — have 
much to say to you. Do not fail. 

Your John.” 

On the following day at ten o’clock, Mr. Smithers retired 
to his private counting room, and gave orders to his clerks 
that, as he had important business letters to write, he was 
not in to any one. A few moments after, a light step was 


CRIMORA. 


113 


heard, and Miss Margaret Wellington, thickly veiled, stood 
beside her lover, Mr. John Knox Calvin Smithers. 

‘‘ My dear Margaret,’’ said Mr. Smithers, rising and 
hurrying for a chair, I am more than happy to meet you 
alone ; for this pleasure so seldom occurs. Come sit near 
to me, so that I can hold your little hand while I talk to 
you. I have much to say — much that is important, as it 
involves the happiness of both of us ; and I trust you will 
believe my words — believe that all I say is dictated by 
the purest love, and desire for your welfare.” 

Miss Margaret laid aside her veil, and with much trep- 
idation — having seated herself near her lover, and ♦ 
allowed him to take her hand — listened with the ut- 
most interest to words which she was certain involved, 
more or less, her fate. She, however, threw as much love 
and confidence into her face as possible, and breathed 
heavily. 

Mrs. Smithers,” continued Mr. Smithers, “ begins — 
and I see with reason — to mistrust you ; but she does not 
yet think of me in connection with it. But such will be 
the result unless ” — 

‘‘ Unless what ? ” exclaimed Margaret, anticipating the 
words, and turning pale as death. 

‘‘ Unless, my dear Margaret, you go away for a little 
while, until the affair is over.” 

Never ! ” hissed out Margaret, between her teeth, and 
looking as though one word more would make her tear her 
lover’s eyes out ; ‘‘ for have you not always promised me 
a home as long as I live — promised me your protection — 
pledged me your honor for the fulfilment of every duty you 
owed me as your mistress ? Now, would you thrust me 
10 ^ 


114 


C RI M 0 R A . 


out of doors which I am never to enter again ? — at the 
very moment, too, when I most require your love and as- 
sistance ? I will not go ! if I do, I will bring disgrace and 
ruin upon you, though I kill myself in doing it.” A vision 
of misery opened before her, — her heart felt it, and she 
burst into tears. 

“ My dear Margaret,” said Smithers, putting his arm 
around her waist, and drawing her closer to him, “ you 
mistake my meaning. I only ask you to go for a little 
time. But surely this is a very unfortunate event, and 
one I did not anticipate, and had not made provision 
.for.” 

Indeed you had, Mr. Smithers ; for when I told you 
of what might be the result of our clandestine meetings, 
you swore solemnly to me that our child should inherit 
your whole property, if you had no other heirs ; and in case 
you had, that a sufficient portion should be settled upon 
me to make me independent. ' And now, sir, unless you 
redeem your pledge, made to me as the strongest induce- 
ment to lead me to your purposes, I will expose the whole 
to your wife and to the world.” 

‘‘For God’s sake, have mercy on me, my dear Marga 
ret ! ” said Mr. Smithers, now greatly alarmed at the ruin 
he saw staring at him ; “I will support you handsomely 
anywhere you may wish to go — but do not urge upon me 
any other step.” 

“ In that very remark, Mr. Smithers, wliich you have 
unguardedly made, I see you are willing I should live 
anywhere. Does this betoken love ? No ! I know you 
are tired of me now, or you w^ould not have said that. 
Had you loved me, as you once swore you did, you would 


CRIMORA. 


115 


have said, — ‘ If you will live near me, so that I can at 
least see you often.’ No ! Mr. Smithers, I have not been 
ruined to gratify you for nothing, and nothing shall change 
my resolutions.” 

“ You wrong me, my dear Margaret, for you know I 
love you dearly, and would give you all I possess if I 
could ; and though it is not necessary, yet to gratify you, 
and show you that I meant honorably by you, I will give 
you a bond now, that our child, if I have no other heirs, 
shall inherit all my property,” and he sat down and wrote, 
in a disguised hand, omitting date and place, a short docu- 
ment which he folded, sealed, and handed to Margaret. 

Miss Margaret Wellington had lived long enough with 
Mr. Smithers to know his character — to know that even 
her life would be of little moment to him, if it stood in the 
way’of his own ends ; and she now saw that his aim was 
to get rid of hef — turn her out upon the world, penniless 
and a vagabond ; and she watched him as he wrote, and 
read in all his words and actions, his favorite motto — 
‘‘ Self-preservation, if all else perish.” 

‘‘ Now, my dear Margaret, since you are convinced of 
my love, I have a favor to ask of you, and if you manage 
rightly, your child’s inheritance will doubtlessly be doubled. 
I wish you to go to Glasgow. Mrs. Jones has gone there 
for reasons which you will learn from my sister, to whom I 
will give you a letter of introduction. I have not time, 
nor is this hardly a proper place to explain the motives 
which actuate me, nor the course you are to pursue ; but 
my sister will inform you of the one, and circumstances 
and your own good judgment must guide you in the other. 
I wish you to profess the strongest love for Mrs. Jones, — 


116 


CRIMORA. 


assure her you came solely to take care of her, and never 
leave her for an instant if you can avoid it. Your inter- 
ests in this are the same as mine.” 

“ I will be ready immediately,” said Margaret, with an 
air of resignation. 

You are a good, kind girl,” said Mr. Smithers, rub- 
bing his hands as he bowed her to the door. 

Margaret had no sooner gone than Mr. Smithers, much 
relieved, exclaimed : ‘‘ Curse the wench, she came near 
ruining me. I promised her much, I know, but then 
I had no idea of ever being called upon to fulfil my en- 
gagement ; and now the idea of her bringing forth a brat 
to be a curse both to me and herself, is intolerable ; and if 
I could get the little imp by the throat, there should never 
be a possibility of his knowing who his father was. In 
fact, Margaret and the child must be removed out of the 
way.” 

As soon as Margaret left the office, she tore open the 
document, and seeing that there Avas no witness to it, she 
passed round to the front of the shop, and entered it just 
as Mr. Smithers came from his private room. 

I wish to get a witness to this signature,” said Mar- 
garet, quite loud, and if some of you gentlemen Avill 
please sign it, you will oblige me exceedingly. This is 
your signature, I believe,” said she to Mr. Smithers, in a 
clear, distinct voice. 

It is,” replied Mr. Smithers, stepping forAA^ard, Avith 
the deepest anxiety pictured in his face, Avhile the sudden- 
ness of the demand, and the important nature of the mis- 
sion on Avhich Miss Wellington was to proceed, deprived 
him of the power to deny his Avriting. 


CRIMORA . 


117 


The clerk having witnessed the signature, and added 
the place and date, Miss Wellington, with a look of scorn, 
bade good morning to Mr. Smithers, and with vengeance 
in her heart and curses on her lips, wended her way home- 
ward to prepare for her journey. 

Mrs. Smithers was glad that Miss Wellington was to 
take her departure, and glad that she was to .go to take 
care of Mrs. Jones; for through Miss Wellington she could 
know all that was done, and lay her plans accordingly — 
obtain such confirmation of her opinions as would aid her 
in crushing a woman, who, from the bottom of her heart, 
she hated. 

We will not trace the progress of afiairs in Glasgow. 
Suffice it to say, that the hopes of Mrs. Smithers, and the 
expectations of Mr. Smithers, were realized ; but circum- 
stances — more particularly the influence of Mr. Smithers’s 
words and money — induced Miss Wellington to take up 
her residence for the future in Falmouth, rather than in 
London. 

Miss Wellington had now two sources of revenue, and 
each sufficient to make her very comfortable. One would 
have thought, that under present circumstances, she might 
have been happy — but she was not. Miss Wellington 
was now incapable of loving deeply, though she could hate 
intensely. Being poor, she had perhaps more easily fallen 
a prey to Mr. Smithers’s attentions and promises of wealth ; 
but when she found him to be selfish, hypocritical and 
false, every emotion of love, respect, esteem, she had 
ever had for him, turned to the most bitter aversion. 
This she quietly nourished in her bosom, day by day, night 
by night, and it was not lessened by any kindness on the 


118 


CRIMOR A. 


part of the father of her boy. I say, she quietly nourished 
her hate, for she saw in the future the means of redress. 

future thus became as a talisman to her heart ; and at 
all times, when urged by some passing event to appeal 
anew to the generosity of her former lover, she would 
smite her breast, and mutter to herself — The future ! ’’ 


CRIMOBA. 


119 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The evening of that day in which Smithers had seen 
the sick Bolaro, and promised to him his kind assistance, 
was one of those dark and dismal ones, when the lamps in 
the streets seem determined to give as little light as possible, 
because much is desirable, — when beggars crouch in the 
obscure passage-ways, and startle, by their unsuspected 
presence, the pedestrian, who, with face covered to shelter 
it from drizzling rain, is hurrying homeward. The spirit 
of that life which had been burned out of a thousand cords 
of wood in Smithers’s fire-place, was now, apparently in 
wild defiance, howling down Smithers’s chimney. Every 
shutter in the house seemed loosened, and wind in fitful 
gusts whistled in every cranny. Mrs. Smithers had 
retired, but Mr. Smithers still sat on the hearth-stone 
absorbed — lost in one great villainous scheme. When a 
shutter slammed on one. side, he dodged his head as though 
some one struck at hini ; when the wind sighed on the 
other, he turned a quick ear, as though he heard some one 
whispering to him. The nature of his thoughts caused the 
solemn moaning in the chimney to act like a spell upon 
him, and he watched the fire, as though it had much to do 
with both. 

There is companionship in the blazing or smouldering 
fire, and it warms in its own peculiar way, the heart of a 


120 


CRIMORA. 


family. When the dry wood is piled on, and the blaze is 
light, and rolls up briskly, it nev^er fails to find a cheerful 
look from all who surround it. When it gradually dies 
away, a more serious expression is on the group ; and 
when it has died out entirely, except, perhaps, a little 
flicking blaze behind some dark log — a solemnity, sad 
and almost painful, accompanies it. At such times, all are 
prepared to see ghosts ; and the sudden spark that shoots 
out from the ashes, startles ^them as something almost 
supernatural. 

Smithers sat in a large chair, and had almost drawn 
himself into himself. No candle had been ordered to the 
room, and as the fire had not been replenished, it was 
leaving him almost in darkness. The wood, however^ had 
hissed at him, and he had heard it ; the blaze had thrust 
out snaky tongues at him, and he had seen them ; but 
when blackness succeeded the last stream of light, the 
black deed in his heart was consummated. At that 
instant, the door opened, and a step approached him. He 
could not scream ; he dared not move ; his tongue clove 
to his mouth, and a cold sweat stood on his forehead. He 
felt a hand upon his shoulder — a groan, as of one in a 
nightmare, escaped him, and he tried to sink into the 
earth ; but finding himself unsuccessful, he prayed for an- 
nihilation. 

Smithers,” said the well-known voice of Miss Wel- 
lington, “ I have waited till this hour to meet you once 
more alone, — to recall your early vows, and to say fare- 
well.” 

“ Oh God! what a relief! ” exclaimed Smithers ; “ I 
am so glad you have come, for I have seen horrible sights, 


C RIIVIOIIA . 


121 


and I could not sleep without unburdening my heart to 
some one.” 

“ What sights, Mr. Smithers ? You frighten me,” said 
Miss Wellington. 

“ Margaret, they say the wicked are cowards,” said 
Smithers in a low voice, and looking anxiously around him ; 

but why need I be afraid, when I have done nothing to 
harm any one, and have always maintained my respecta- 
bility in society ? ” 

“ When a crime is committed in the hearty God says the 
deed is already done,” replied the \dsitor. ‘‘ I know that 
you have been meditating some gTeat and wicked act ; I 
watched you through the key-hole, and saw the agony you 
endured in making your resolve. I feared that I was to 
be the victim, and I came to plead for mercy and forgive- 
ness, and to promise all you wished — to swear to be yours 
till death, and, as I said before, to say farewell.” 

“ Margaret, you read me, and you know too much or 
not enough,” said Smithers ; and he paused to consider 
what he should do — strength and resolution returning to 
him again. A moment after, seizing her hand with a 
kind of savage energy, he with a half-stifled voice resumed : 

Margaret, down on your knees, and swear solemnly 
that you will never reveal my secret, which I shall now tell 
you. Fate urges me to this — I cannot resist it ; and it 
tells me it will all be for your good.” 

Miss Wellington, trembling with fright, kneeled down 
and swore solemnly before her Maker, to do all John Knox 
Calvin Smithers required ; for, though she had not changed 
her mind with regard to his character, she had as regarded 
11 


122 


C R I M 0 R A . 


her own policy, and thought by tenderness to win him to 
her favor, and had sought him with that idea. 

. ‘‘ Margaret, I thought you were far hence ; but it is 
well that you are here. I needed your sage counsel, and as 
our destinies are one and inseparable, I must tell you all. 
If you are faithful to my interests, and you manage rightly, 
a still larger fortune than any you have yet dreamed of, 
will eventually be yours. There is here now a rich Italian, 
whose funds are all in my hands, or within my reach. He 
is very ill, and will die — must die. He has a brother 
living in Italy in the Val de Mazzara, but he knows noth- 
ing of this one’s wealth. If, therefore, I can get posses- 
sion of this Bolaro’s papers, deeds, &c., so that they fall 
not into other hands, I shall be rich as Croesus, and no one 
made the poorer by it. My respectability, and conse- 
quently my happiness, will be fixed on a basis that cannot 
be shaken, and I shall feel then towards you all that gene- 
rosity which true love prompts.” 

Few revelations could have more gratified the heart of 
Miss Wellington than did this one. If all was successful, 
she might yet have wealth, and thence gain a pinnacle 
from which she could hurl back the insults heaped upon 
her by Mrs. Smithers ; and if not, she had Mr. Smithers 
more than ever in her power, and would wait her time to 
wreak her vengeance upon him. She took an affectionate 
leave of the merchant villain. 

Mr. Smithers retired to bed, and buried his head in the 
clothes] to shut out the vivid light of the lightning, whose 
every flash penetrated his soul. He did not sleep, for the 
black tempest that was being tossed over the face of the 
earth was typified in his own bosom. 


CRIMORA. 


123 


On the following day, Mr. Smithers, at a late hour, 
drove to the house of Bolaro, and at once saw by the face 
of the servant, that the master was either very ill or dead. 

My master, Bolaro, asked anxiously after you this 
morning,” said the man to Mr. Smithers, but since 
then he has been out of his head and so raving that I could 
not leave him. A few moments since, however, he fell 
asleep, and I trust that when he awakes he will be better. 
Yet I cannot hope ” — and here the tears began to trickle 
down the poor fellow’s cheeks — for he has growm so 
weak that he cannot turn himself in bed. He is a good 
master, and 1 am loth to part with him, but he must go.” 

Let us hope,” said Smithers, whose hope was that the 
invalid would die, — and he approached the bed and put 
aside the curtains. The sick man was not asleep, but he 
was soon to be so forever. He had avoided all medicine, 
and taken no nourishment, in hopes, he said, of starving 
out the fever. This, with anxiety for his brother, — his for- 
tune — the absence of all that comfort and gentle sympathy 
w^hich friendship brings to the sick bed, had drawn every 
bolt, mental and physical, from the fabric of life, and his 
dissolution was at hand. 

I am very sad,” said Smithers, in a low, drawling tone, 
at seeing you thus prostrated, my dear friend, and if I 
could only aid you, it would give me great satisfaction.” 

The dying man heard him, and he opened his eyes, but 
could not speak. In the look, however, which he gave to 
Smithers, there was incredulity, pity, and, for an instant, 
a flash of revenge ; but all were soon sw^allowed up in an 
expression of despair and sorrow. He clutched at the 
throat of Smithers, and in the effort, died, ^ 


124 


CEIMOR A. 


Drawing the curtain so close that it quite prevented any 
one’s looking on the bed, Smithers turned to the servant 
and said, Come near, and hear what he says.” Smithers 
then interrogated the supposed living Bolaro, and in a 
feigned, feeble voice, himself responded. 

You are satisfied with all my business transactions ? ” 
Yes.” 

^ “li you do not live, are you desirous that I should con- 
tinue to invest your money as I think most profitable ? ” 
Yes.” 

“ And if you do not live, do you wish that I should take 
charge of all your effects, papers, &c., and do for you 
as I would for myself? ” 

“ Yes,” in a still more suppressed voice. 

“ You hear what he says,” said Smithers, turning his 
head towards the listening servant ; but his accents are 
so feeble, I fear he cannot live many minutes — bring 
some cold water instantly,” and as the man went away to 
get the water, he secured the keys of the trunks, draw'ers, 
&c. When the servant returned, Smithers sat calmly by 
the bed, with the handkerchief to his face, as though 
he was weeping, and allowed him to go up to his master 
and see that he was dead. 

‘‘ Dead ! ” exclaimed the poor fellow, in an agony no 
one could have seen unmoved ; and letting the glass fall 
from his hand, he sank on his knees beside the bed, called 
his master’s name, rubbed his cold hands, and put back 
the dark hair from his sun-burnt face, and cried out in 
utter despair — My master ! my master ! ” 

Smithers’s conscience felt great relief in reflecting that 
the Jtalian had died without the violence he, Smithers,' had 


CRIMORA. 


125 


contemplated using ; but the sin of omissio7i ” still stung 
him. He said to himself: — If I had been watchful and 
kind I might have saved him, but then where would have 
been the wealth that is now falling into my hands ? Bah ! 
These squirms will soon be forgotten in the splendor and 
respectability of my future career.” 

If the fiends have made a hell, and have made any one 
corner of it hotter than another, I believe that particular 
locality will be devoted to those who allow strangers to 
suffer and die in their midst, without extending to them all 
those peculiar hospitalities which the sick, away from kin- 
dred, friends, and home, always need, and for which their 
gratitude is eternal. Smithers shook off this reflection 
again and again, though it still returned to cling, with its 
iron fangs, about his heart. * 

Smithers disposed of Bolaro’s body in as quiet and eco- 
nomical a manner as possible, and proceeded in a legal 
way, by the aid of the servant’s testimony, to put him- 
self in perfect mastery of all that Bolaro owned at the time 
of his decease. A few days sufficed, and Smithers, with 
increased wealth, and increased miserly feelings, and in- 
creased hatred of his race, from the evils he had done it, 
sat down to ask himself what more on earth he could de- 
sire. The question, before uttered, was smothered by a 
thousand wants. There were still persons more wealthy : 
that would not do. There were still lords, peers : they 
must come down, or he must rise. The future was still to 
be a struggle, but his unscrupulous heart and soul were in 
it, and he was justly confident he should not fail of his aim. 
Success had emboldened him ; crime had hardened him ; 

11 ^ 


126 


C R I M 0 H A . 


his plebian birth had embittered his waking hours, while 
his passion for respectability had goaded him on. 

If Mrs. Smithers ever had any heart, it had gone away 
with Alfierdermo ; or, she had not seen the one whom she 
could love. Her husband, now so full of ambition and 
crime, daily grew more hateful to her sight. She had ar- 
rived at the top of the ladder of distinction in the Church, 
had become head and front of all home, charitable, reli- 
gious, Hottentot societies, and found not that happiness in 
respectability she anticipated. There were still noble 
ladies ; and as a shop-keeper’s wife, she remembered, could 
not rise very high, she grew intolerably peevish and mo- 
rose, and was in a short time tending towards the grave, 
impelled by the wormwood of her own nature. If she had 
a gleam of sunshine, it was in the thought that she had 
ruined such and such an one’s character, who had stuck 
themselves up to be somebody ; and that she had really 
been the means of finding out and exposing the bad conduct 
of every one of her neighbors. Such was Mrs. Smithers, 
when her husband gained wealth and respectabiliy by his 
villainy. 


CRIMOR A. 


127 


CHAPTER XV. 

We have said that Miss Wellington proceeded to Glas- 
gow, and entered on her duties (more important and sur- 
prising than she anticipated), with great zeal and alacrity. 

After having obtained from Mr. Smithers’s sister the 
clue to, and import of, all that was in progress, she insinu- 
ated herself into the favor of Mrs. Jones, and in a short 
time Avon her entire, her most perfect confidence. 

Mrs. Jones, as Ave have seen, Avas of a kind and unsus- 
pecting nature, and believing in the sincerity of Miss Wel- 
lington, confided to her all her secrets, her hopes, her 
fears ; in fact, placed her life almost at the disposition 
of this now intriguing, and, from circumstances, unprinci- 
pled woman. 

Events finally took place at Glasgow which rendered 
Miss Wellington’s stay there no longer necessary. On her 
leaving, hoAvever, (her future course not having been fully 
agreed on), she met Mr. Smithers at private lodgings in 
London. The news she brought, and which Avas commu- 
nicated to Mrs. Smithers by her husband, filled them both 
with joy. Smithers manifested unbounded gratitude, and 
pretended to plan everything for Miss Wellington’s happi- 
ness, while she, poor girl, assented to all, under a convic- 
tion that time would entangle a web her seducer could not 


128 


CRI MORA. 


escape. After a long conversation, it was definitely set- 
tled that she should go immediately to Falmouth to reside. 

Mr. Smithers understood human nature very well, but 
had not sufficient control over his own to conceal his real 
sentiments. Miss Wellington, though seeming to yield 
with a cheerful and trusting spirit, seeing through his de- 
signs, — his penurious soul, and the innumerable meshes 
of his mephitic villainy, — determined, though she should 
suffer long years of privation in efforts to effect her object, 
to make him at last the signal victim of her abiding hate. 

With the burdens she bore. Miss Wellington found her 
journey to Falmouth one of great fatigue ; but she con- 
stantly said to herself — “ ’T is only the beginning of a suc- 
cession of miseries I am doomed to suffer, and which I am 
resolved to endure patiently — destined to invigorate my 
spirit of revenge and make my will strong, though they 
weaken this poor feeble frame, to its halting at the grave.” 

In a few days, after arriving at the place which was to 
be her future residence. Miss Wellington, almost unat- 
tended, gave birth to a son. 

Oh, what wild joy must fill the heart of the mother when 
she hears the first cry of her little one — the child of him 
she loves ! But was Miss Wellington happy ? The sound 
of the infant voice sent a momentary thrill of delight to her 
heart, but a convulsive shudder succeeded, for she recalled 
the treachery of the father — the father of him who was 
to be fathei’less. 

For several years, Smithers and another party transmit- 
ted regularly to Miss Wellington considerable sums of 
money ; but they grew smaller and came less frequent, and 
finally failed altogether. The alternative then was to seek 


CRIMORA. 


129 


for work. Of this she obtained just enough to support life, 
and was obliged, as soon as her child was big enough to 
beg, to send him up to London to get his own living, and 
something for her — if possible. 

For a youthful mind, a large city is as inappropriate a 
place as is the gutter of its streets for the growth of the 
delicate lily. Miss Wellington’s boy proved this to be the 
case, for he had firmly fixed in his brain a thousand vulgar 
and wicked impressions (the out-door life of London is 
the free school in which alone thousands of children are 
taught), before one pure and gentle thought had built there 
its quiet nest. 

Please give penny^to buy bread ! ” said the little rag- 
ged thing, to a gentleman passing, for I’ve nothin’ to 
eat.” The gentleman gave him a sixpence, and as the boy 
had not yet learned to lie, he did no more begging 
that day, for he had then enough with which to satisfy his 
hunger. When night came he had nowhere to go, and 
fearing to enter a house lest the people should whip him, 
he curled himself in a corner between a building and its 
high steps, and leaning his tender cheeks against the cold 
stones, fell asleep. 

The Turks have their public Khans, where the stranger 
and traveller may find gratuitous and comfortable shelter, 
but the Christians have not yet become so benevolent, and 
hundreds are the poor who, from exposure in our streets, 
are nightly hurried to their long accounts. 

For several days little Charles Wellington stood in the 
same place to beg, and each night returned to his corner to 
sleep. The place he had chosen he endured as long as the 
weather was fair, but one night a heavy chilling rain fell, 


130 


CRIMORA. 


and in the morning he was benumbed with cold, and so ill 
that he could not move. The police soon discovered him, 
and as he could give no satisfactory account of himself, had 
him conveyed to the hospital. Could he have reposed on 
some good, kind mother’s bosom, and received for a few 
hours her tender care, he would have at once recovered ; 
but, left alone with an unfeeling physician, who doubtless 
thought it far better for him to die than live, he grew 
worse, wasted away to a tiny skeleton, and was near being 
thrust in a box already prepared for him. A few weeks, 
however, partially restored his health, and he was again 
turned into the streets. He felt now more the necessity 
of working at his profession, and he began to invent many 
lies to effect his purpose. Success soon taught him to use 
deception freely ; and to lying followed cheating and steal- 
ing, and then incarceration, — to be again, and worse than 
ever, turned loose upon society. In begging, his success 
was greatest with handsome young females, who thought it 
looked prettily to give to the poor. In stealing, fat, phleg- 
matic men, of little sensibility and activity, were usually 
his victims. His companions were necessarily those of his 
class, and from them he improved daily his stock of knowl- 
edge of the best mode of gammoning the public ; but many 
were the days in which he did not obtain enough to buy 
lodging, and then under some door step, or cart that had 
been left in the street, he passed the night. 

We need not follow this child of sorrow through his daily 
rounds, to know how, in three years, his habits would be 
formed, his education perfected. Now seven years of age, 
he knew more of the world, more of men and morals, than 
" do most people arrived at maturity. An advantage gained 


CRIMORA. 


131 


over a fellow thief was considered by him a great feather 
in his cap. With his cigar, and swagger of a bully, he felt 
himself a man. With the shrewdness he had acquired by 
necessity, he was confident none could get the upper hand 
of him. Having become hardy by exposure, and being 
large of his age, one, to see him and hear him talk, would 
have thought him very much older than he really was. 

Charles returned home, and Miss Wellington, as may 
well be supposed, was astonished at the proficiency of her 
son. He was to her a perfect prodigy, and she saw in him 
the future man who was to be her chief and efficient instru- 
ment in carrying out the sole design of her life. He was 
bold in his villainy, and she liked it better than the low 
cunning she had always seen in Smithers. He had no 
cowardice, was reckless in the extreme ; and this, too, 
made him appear, when compared with his father, in a 
most flattering light. Instead, then, -of chiding him for his 
vulgarity, profanity, and plottings in crime, she applauded 
all he did and said. 

Miss Wellington, let me do her the justice to say, would 
once have shuddered at her present course, and would 
sooner have thought of killing a son than making him a 
thief; but circumstances had conspired against all that 
was kind in her nature, and turned her into a hag and a 
fiend. Had she been loved and treated with affection, and 
her child cared for, she would have been different ; for few 
can evade the good effects, the mild influence, of tender- 
ness and generosity. But her confidence had been abused, 
her peace destroyed, by the very one who had sworn to 
cherish and love her ; and now for seven long years she 
had been an outcast of society, and had descended from a 


132 


CEIMOR A. 


pleasant and social station, first to one of loneliness and 
labor, then to one of want and misery. 

‘‘ Charles, my son,” said Miss Wellington to him, the 
morning after his return from London, “ come and sit 
down near me, for I have something particular to caution 
you about. I know you are up to the ways of the world, 
still a mother’s words may sometimes be of service. Keep 
you from all great crimes that can subject you to trans- 
portation or imprisonment for any length of time, for I have 
a great work yet to perform — one that will bring wealth 
to both of us — and my dependence is solely upon you.” 

‘‘ Let us know it, mother,” exclaimed the son, rubbing 
his hands, as if ready at once to go at it. I’ll do it, 
hang me if I don’t ; and I’ll do it up till it nicks ’em.” 

‘‘You are not yet old enough, my boy, though your un- 
derstanding is suflScient. I will tell you the nature of it, 
that you may see what is required of you. Smithers has 
bound himself fo me, by a written document, to bestow on 
you his fortune, if he has no heirs. He also obtained from 
one Bol^jro, an Italian, whom he probably murdered, all the 
titles to large estates in Italy, and a vast deal of cash. 
This, also, he has promised shall be yours if he has no 
children by his pwn wife. His heirs will also inherit a 
vast fortune from his wife’s father — the father of Mrs. 
Jones, — unless Mr. Jones has children, which will then 
divide the property ; — the fathers being the guardians, 
and having entire control of the bequests.” 

“Well, mother, go it ! I see it all! We’ll have the 
whole on’t ! ’’ exclaimed the boy, with an oath, and in 
gi'eat glee. 


CRIMOR A. 


133 


Now, as Smithers will look out that Jones has no 
children who live, you must look out that Smithers has 
none. Mark me, Charley, I do not say you are to kill 
them. No ; but you can steal them, and make them 
beggars like yourself.’’ 

Good ! mother, you’re not a slow covy ! ” cVied 
Charley, giving her a slap on the back. 

You are also to steal the documents which he stole 
from the Italian,” continued the excited mother ; and she 
clinched her sinewy fingers tight around the arm of the 
boy, “ and there we have him ; for should he dare to 
make known his loss, the public will learn how he came by 
the property — and I can aid them in elucidating the 
affair — and his neck will stretch for it ; ” and here the 
cadaverous face of poor, suffering Margaret, twisted itself 
into a kind of satanic smile, which passed as soon as the 
vision of the swinging Smithers went by. 

“ All right, mother ! I’m your boy to send him to 
h — 1. I’ll get the old sneak’s documents, you may be 
sure on ’t.” 

“ You’ll remain at home awhile, Charley, for we have 
now enough to live on ; besides, I am not well, and want 
you to bring me wood and water, and take a little care of 
me ; for though I’m now only a little over thirty years of 
age, I feel like an old decrepid crone, and as though my 
life was fast passing away. You little know, my poor boy, 
how quickly a mind on the rack can wear out the body.” 

Never fear, mother ! I’ll stick by you, and we’ll 
by and by give ’um a rap on the blinking side ! ” 

12 


134 


CRIMORA . 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Mrs. Smithers had so narrowly watched Aluine, that 
she came to a just conclusion in regard to her attachment 
to Alfierdermo ; and having succeeded in confirming her 
opinion, through the agency of Miss Wellington, resolved 
to intercept her half-sister’s correspondence, and create 
for her a deep and permanent source of anguish. To 
accomplish this, she, by rich presents, bribed Aluine’s ser- 
vant ; and giving her minute instructions concerning the 
manner by which she should win the entire confidence of 
her mistress, (this being essential to the obtaining of the 
letters Aluine wrote to Alfierdermo), doubted not the 
result. The letters written by the latter, Mrs. Smithers 
had already found the means of obtaining before they fell 
into the proper hands. The servant followed implicitly 
the instructions of Mrs. Smithers, and was as successful as 
could be desired. The first letter, written by her after 
her return from Glasgow, was as follows : 

‘‘ My own dear Fiello : — 

, Since thou didst leave me, I have written to thee each 
month, and have received six sweet, precious responses ; 
but for the last three months, when I most needed thy 
assurances of love and devotion, not a line has reached me. 


GRIMGRA. 


135 


When in Glasgow, and very ill, life seemed of little 
moment to me, because thou wast not with me ; and if by 
dying I could have come to thee. Oh ! how willingly I 
would have stepped through the flimsy veil of mortality ! 
I suffered much, much for thee ; but Oh ! there w^as a 
precious joy in it all, because it was for thee I suffered ! 

Wilt thou not write to me, love ? If thou couldst 
dream of the beatitude thy dear letters — penned by thine 
own dear hand — create, thou wouldst^ when away, if 
thou didst love me, spend all thy time in writing and 
dreaming. 

Precious Fiello, I have a thousand kind thoughts to tell 
to thee ; and Oh ! I have so much needed thy present 
counsel, thy looks of love, thy words of consolation, that I 
hardly know how I have lived to write of it. I know not 
if I have acted to please thee ; but Oh ! be assured that I*, 
have done what I thought hest^ and as I thought would 
meet with thy best approval ! 

Tell me, adored Fiello ! if thou art still mine, and 
believe me ever, 

Thy Lorma.’^ 

The last letter from Alfierdermo, intercepted by Mrs. 
Smithers, ran thus : 

‘‘ Woman’s falsity is proverbial ; but Oh^*! dearest 
Lorma, I cannot even now, for any length of time, enter- 
tain the idea that thou art not all mine, though to my last 
letter thou hast vouchsafed no reply. 

I have no faith in Fatality — in its common acceptation 
— but I have in the adaptedness of one creature for 


136 


CRIMORA. 


another by the design of the Creator. That thou wert 
made for me, and that thy spirit cannot be separated from 
mine, I firmly believe ; yet believing, I cannot reconcile 
with it, thy silence. 

Has some uncouth word cast a shadow on the page I’ve 
sent to thee, which should have been as transcendantly 
pure as thy own dear self? Has some half-expressed 
sentiment been misinterpreted by thee, and the blame cast 
on me, and not gn the poverty of language ? 

Oh ! my soul’s idol ! if in aught I have offended, pardon 
me, I pray thee, as I now bow down at thy feet, and kiss 
the hem of thy garment ! 

My father, still remaining ill, detains me here ; but if 
kind heaven favors his recovery, the wild bird’s flight to 
his native woods is not swifter than mine will be to thee. 

Light of my soul, a sweet adieu. 

Fiello.” 

A month passed, and Alfierdermo received no answer 
to his letter, and Aluine none to hers. A fountain of 
sorrow was broken up in their hearts, and the sunshine of 
peace, thenceforth, seldom gilded its tainted waters. The 
confidence in each other’s truth still remained as the main 
pillar in their existence ; but a belief that some powerful 
influence had been exerted over the mind of the other, 
possessed* both, and they began to feel that only in the 
spirit-land would they be united and happy. 

Mrs. Smithers, though she had resolved many times 
never again to enter the house of Mr. Jones, could not 
now refrain her steps in that direction, so great was her 
desire to see the effects of her pious villainy, and exult 
over it. 


CRIMOEA. 


13T 


Early in the morning, after Mrs. Smithers had read 
Alfierdermo’s letter, she called on Mrs. Jones; and not 
sending up her name, for fear she might not have an audi- 
ence,, seated herself in the light of a broad window, where 
she could have a chance to see plainly the working of the 
features of the victim she intended there to haul over 
the coals. Mrs. Jones soon came down, and astonished 
at the intrusion — for she knew well that only one motive 
could have actuated the visit — received Mrs. Smithers 
with marked and cutting coolness. 

Mrs. Smithers felt her position, and was determined to 
pay for it, and so began with : — Mrs. Jones, from a 
high sense of duty as a relative of yours, I have come to 
w’arn you from your present course of conduct, which is 
making you the talk of London. That respectability, 
which it has been my pride to maintain for you, you are 
fast undermining; and the day is not distant, if you do 
not change your course, when you will sink into ruin and 
obscurity.” 

Your rebukes may be fully merited, Mrs. Smithers,” 
replied Mrs. Jones, but when I wish for your advice or 
censure, I will do myself the honor to send for you.” 

Do not be angry with me, I pray you, Mrs. Jones, 
for I mean you only good,” said Mrs. Smithers, the lie 
almost choking her. My husband, you know, has busi- 
ness with many Italians, and among others with Alfierder- 
mo’s father. He has just received a letter from the old 
gentleman, in which he sends the affectionate regards of 
his son, whom he says is reconciled to and enjoying his 
new bride in a Villetta near Genoa.” 

12 ^ 


138 


CRIMORA. 


Oh, do not say that ! exclaimed Aluine, almost drop- 
ping from her chair, “ for it is not true. The old man is 
very ill, and good Alfierdermo is taking care of him.’^ 

I believe he was ill for a few days,” said Mrs. Smith- 
ers, very composedly, and as though she had not noticed 
the interest her half-sister had shown in the news ; “ but 
he recovered, and attended to business as usual. Did Al- 
fierdermo tell you he would return as soon as his father 
was convalescent.” 

“ He said he should fly to me,” answered Aluine, but 
without knowing what she said, so lost was she in a chaos 
of thought. 

“ His young bride, they say, is beautiful, — a woman of 
high rank, of brilliant attainments, and of a princely for- 
tune,” continued Mrs. Smithers, as though she had heard 
no reply to her former remark. 

Who tells you all this,” said Aluine, with a wild and 
searching look. 

“ And then there are so many attractions in Italy for 
young men, — aye, and old men,” resumed Mrs. Smith- 
ers, that no wonder he loves to remain there. I much 
doubt if he ever visits again our damp and sunless clime.” 

Doubt it, do you say ? ” exclaimed Aluine, and her 
eyes dilated, as though light drew near to them, her face 
became pale, and her hands, folded over each other, pressed 
hard upon her heart, convulsed with love and fear. In a 
moment her head sunk on her bosom, and she was insen- 
sible. 

Mrs. Smithers knew nothing of, and had not calculated 
on the strength of this young woman’s attachment ; so 
when she saw her as it were, in the arms of death, she be- 


C R I M 0 R A . 


189 


came horribly frightened, and turned all her attentions to 
reviving her. But as soon as signs of life returned, she 
rejoiced in the power she found she possessed over her 
rival. 

‘‘ My dear sister,’’ said Mrs. Smithers, soothingly, do 
not notice my remarks. But still, since I see your strong 
attachment to this man w^hile you have a husband, it is my 
duty as a Christian to urge you to break it off — to aban- 
don this sinful course. Can you love him, when you 
know he has a wife and is unfaithful to his vows ? Can 
he, think you, look on you with respect and confidence, 
knowing you also to be unfaithful ? ” 

Aluine sat with her face buried in her hands, and the 
tears trickled fast through her fingers, but she said ftothing ; 
her sobs, however, told something of her sufferings. 

‘‘ First of all, to seek to win your love when you was 
already wed, shows him to be a man of no honor or prin- 
ciple, and ” — 

‘‘ Hold ! ” exclaimed Aluine, struggling with her grief 
and anger. You do not know him ! Every word you 
utter against him is false ! — ^ wholly, utterly, cruelly false ! 
No human being breathes who has more honor. No mor- 
tal lives who cherishes purer principles ! He never sought 
me, nor sought to win my love by word, by look or deed. 
When I first met him, we did not speak ; but God, who is 
Love, commingled our hearts — united us in His own pure 
essence, and we were for eternity one. When we next 
met, it was by accident, and accident revealed to us that 
we could not live without each other. Oh ! he is good ! 
I will risk my soul’s eternal welfare on his goodness.” 


140 


CRIMORA. 


This is but the delirium of sinful passion, which will 
pass away when you draw near the grave,” said Mrs. 
Smithers, who, perhaps, really thought so, for she knew 
little of what Aluine was talking about. 

‘‘ The grave ! ” cried Aluine, turning towards heaven 
her large blue eyes, still full of tears, “ Oh, how vastly 
more welcome would it be with my Fiello, than life can 
ever be without him.” 

How, Mrs. Jones, can you talk thus, and not consider 
it wicked in the extreme ? Have you not a husband living 
whom you have sworn to love and honor? ” 

In that only was I wicked, and there I wronged only 
myself. I pledge my word to love him, but then I did 
not knc^ that I could not love him. I thought, as he was 
good and kind, that by living in his presence I should day 
by day grow more fond of him, and thence our home 
would become a Paradise ; but alas ! when I came to un- 
derstand the true nature of my heart, I saw the incompat- 
ibility of my vows, and pleading for mercy, belie vod that 
God forgave me my youthful error.” 

‘‘ Oh, what vain sophistry you rest your eternal salvation 
upon ! ” said Mrs. Smithers, assuming a look of the deep- 
est commisseration. If all this be true, why do you live 
with Mr. Jones ? ” 

Because,” replied Aluine,” I desire to serve him and 
fulfil, as far as I am ahle^ all the vows I made to him. 
Then there is now no alternative but to remain in a nega- 
tive existence, even though it kills me.” 

‘‘ If Mr. Jones did not treat you well, you might have 
some excuse for your aversion to him, and I could under- 
stand why you should think of and long for another.” 


CEIMORA. 


141 


“ Oh ! you, who cannot comprehend the beautiful charac- 
ter of Alfierdermo, — can never know why he should mingle 
in my every dream of happiness. You speak of Mr. 
Jones’s treatment (I use the word as you mean it) of me, 
as though that had any tiling to do with my existence. 
He gives me my food, my clothes, my shelter ; but having 
always had them, they seem but the necessary consequents 
of corporeal being claimed a priori^ and elicit no more 
gratitude than I feel for the stream that quenches my 
thirst. But oh ! that fountain which supplies the thirsty 
%jpirit is of heaven. It is that portion of the ‘ waters of 
hfe ’ sent to refresh ^ God’s image ’ as he walks through 
the dry valleys of this earth. But my husband knows not 
of it, dreams not of it, draws not from it. Thus you see 
we live together without being wedded — that we are 
wedded without hving together ; and this is called mar- 
riage.” 

And you would go still further, I suppose,” said Mrs. 
Smithers, getting angry because she could not comprehend 
what seemed so plain to, and excited such touching and 
heartfelt eloquence in the one she had resolved to destroy, 
and denounce it as legalized prostitution, and abuse even 
our church for sanctioning anything so immoral.” 

I am morally certain,” responded Aluine, that both 
the civil and ecclesiastical framers and executors of the 
laws, as they exist in regard to this matter, must be held 
accountable at the day of judgment, for the millions on 
millions of crimes — crimes hideous and diabolical — into 
which they have impelled their unsuspecting, unresisting 
victims. Seldom a day passes in which some one or other 


142 


/ CRIMOBA. 


of our journals does not bring us an account of a husband 
murdering his wife, or a wife her husband, — and all be- 
cause they know 0 / no other way of retrieving an error in 
their judgment. Poor mortals ! Allowed fallibility in all 
other decisions, but in this they must be infallible, or be 
doomed to a life of misery, or to a deed of crime. Oh ! 
would to God that ‘ peace and good will ’ could envelope 
the whole earth, and that purity, virtue, truth and harmo- 
ny could so fill the world, that, as in heaven, there would 
be no ‘ marriage and no giving in marriage,’ but all be like 
the angels in glory, wedded in the Creator’s love.” 

As 1 have before told you,” said Mrs. Smithers, ^^you 
are insane, — and I now add that you are wickedly selfish. 
Your opinions are wholly at variance with common sense, 
and if carried out, would destroy society and fill the earth 
with sin.” 

Far from it,” replied Aluine, — her eyes brightening 
as if inspiration from the Millennium had been sent to illu- 
mine her soul, — ‘‘they would remove the causes of 
sin, of crime, of iniquity. If this is wicked, then I 
will answer to my Maker for it. The highest aspiration of 
my heart is,’ that all should be good, and not one of my 
fellow creatures sufier. If this is selfishness, then I am in- 
deed selfish.” 

“You would have the world swayed by passion instead 
of law,” persisted Mrs. Smithers. 

“ Is not God Love ? ” asked Aluine, placing her hand 
upon her heart, as if she would be understood to speak 
with all reverence. “ It is God whom I would have fill 
the world. Would not war, and murder, and all the evils 
which spring from hate, envy, pride, revenge, ambition. 


C R I M 0 R A . 


143 


then cease ? Indeed, as God is my witness — as I hope 
for happiness hereafter, I would this day give my poor life 
a sacrifice for such a consummation.” 

If you would have love so universal,” said Mrs. 
Smithers, tauntingly, Why do you not love your hus- 
band ? You own he does not abuse you ! ” 

Oh, you will not understand me ! Love is not a 
voluntary emotion. A mother loves her child from the 
very necessity of her nature. You speak of abuse. If 
Alfierdermo should abuse me, I could not help loving him. 
If he should put upon my back the harshest stripes while I 
kneeled at his feet, and the blood should stream to the cut- 
ting lash, I could not, if I looked up into his face, but love 
and adore him. Oh God ! Yes ; through scorn, and hate, 
and harshness, and toil, and in death, I am his — all, all 
his ! ” and again burying her face in her hands, she sobbed 
aloud. 

“ Notwithstanding all my prayers and exertions,” said 
Mrs. Smithers, rising to go, I see there is no prospect of 
redeeming you from the sinful course you have entered 
upon ; and if you come to disgrace and ruin, I hope you 
will not blame me^ but rather that vile Italian, that viper, 
whom you harbor in your bosom.” 

I have told you, Mrs. Smithers,” said Aluine, still 
deeply aSected, “ that I would not listen to any language 
abusive of my Fiello ; and your visits, be assured, will 
never be agreeable till all scandal and all calumniation of 
our fellow-creatures of both sexes, cease to enter into your 
conversation.” 

Well, madam, just as you please,” replied Mrs. 
Smithers, reddening with the intensity of her anger ; 


144 


CRIMORA. 


‘‘ but when you get to the bottom of your fall — and fall 
you surely will — do not blame me,” and she flaunted 
out of the room as though contamination and pestilence 
filled it. 

When Mrs. Smithers was gone, Aluine threw herself on 
the sofa, and gave way to a flood of tears. Why have I 
listened to that foolish woman,” said she to herself, “ and 
why have I so unbosomed myself to her, who I know will 
make the worst possible use of it ? But I could not help 
it. She came to find out my secrets, and she succeeded. 
But oh ! Fiello ! Fiello ! I will not believe a word against 
thee ! I will not do thy pure heart the injustice to harbor 
against thee, for one moment, one wronging thought ! No ! 
When I forget my beautiful mother’s love — when the 
birds return not to their mates — Lorma may beheve that 
her Fiello is false ! ” 


CRIMORA . 


145 


CHAPTER XVII. 

On the southern coast of England there is a small sea- 
port town, called Falmouth. It is in the county of Corn- 
wall, at the mouth of the river Fal, and is unlike almost 
every other town of Great Britain. Without the quaint 
look of Chester, the bustling progress of Manchester, the 
thriftiness of Liverpool, it is a place of considerable busi- 
ness notoriety, from the fact that it has become the regular 
station of packet boats which carry foreign mails to all 
parts of the world. It is, too, of importance in its direct 
relationship with the Cornish mine&, from which it derives 
a vast deal of trade ; while its peculiarly antique look, its 
narrow, dirty streets, its groups of low and grotesque 
dwellings, would make one readily suppose himself in 
some half-Moorish village or peuhlo Espanol, 

About half a mile from the southern extremity of the 
main street, which extends for a great distance along the 
beach, stands a two-story house, with two small windows 
on one side and two large ones on the other, and an 
entrance from a court. The chamber of that dwelling 
was once occupied by Margaret Wellington ; and it was 
there \Vhere the light of a once gay and generous spirit 
went out in the saddest loneliness. 

Margaret Wellington Avas now called Mrs. Wellington, 
for she had with her a boy who she said was hers, though 
13 


146 


CRIMORA. 


no one in Falmouth knew of her ever having had a hus- 
band. The fact, however, that she had been truly wedded 
to soipe one, was generally believed, for when impertinent 
curiosity questioned her on the subject, she maintained, 
with some degree of sincerity, that her partner was in the 
spirit-land — it really being true that she had loved an 
ideal whose personal had not been presented to her 
mortal vision. 

Of Mrs. Wellington’s early history we shall say more 
hereafter. At the time we now refer to she was miserably 
p'oor. One night, as she sat alone, brooding over a few 
coals, which hardly sufficed to keep her hands warm, a 
rude, ragged, dirty boy, large, and of a premature look, 
though only about twelve years of age, burst in upon her. 
‘^Well, mother!” exclaimed he, ^‘you see I am back 
again, and as destitute as ever,” and he swaggered along, 
looked cautiously about him, then cocked his eye know- 
ingly, as much as to say he liked to tell a lie for the 
sheer fun of it. 

The woman, Charles Wellington addressed, had not 
seemed to notice his entrance — in fact she had become 
almost wholly indifferent to the external world ; but as he 
drew a seat up alongside of her, touched her on the 
shoulder, she was aroused to a more painful sense of her 
wretched condition. As soon as he was recognized, the 
boy* slapped his hand on his pocket, which jingled as if 
full of coin. 

‘‘Villain!” exclaimed the mother, starting ’up and 
seizing him by the arm ; “I did not send you to London 
to steal, but to beg. Give me the money instantly, that I 
may secrete it, for perhaps the police are following you — 


CRIMOBA . 


147 


are already on your track — already at the door;’’ at 
which instant the noise of the cat, jumping from a neigh- 
boring bench, caused them both to scream out and turn 
pale with affright. Ah, wretch ! wretch ! ” continued 
she ; but tell me how you obtained this money, and if 
you saw the villain Smithers ! ” 

“ Don’t be alarmed, old woman,” said the boy. The 
money came from old Smithers’s drawers when he least sus- 
pected it. I did not go there with the intention of steal- 
ing, but to beg of him, as you told me to ; but as he did 
not recognize me, I hinted to him about some of his not 
very*- religious deeds ; at which he drove me from his 
presence, and threatened me with kicks if I ever appeared 
there again. When I reached the walk I turned and 
laughed him in the face, and told him I would appear to 
him hereafter, in the shape of nightmares ; and’ I rather 
reckon he will have one that will sit heavy on him, when 
he finds his gold missing. Hah ! hah ! Don ’t you 
think so?” 

“ How can you laugh, child, when you are steeped in 
crime, and I in misery ? ” 

I, old woman ? Do you call it crime to steal from 
such a cursed miser ? He is not a man, and there is not 
one who knows him (but there are none who know him), 
but would wrinkle his own heart with laughter to hear that 
the old villain was murdered.” 

Hush ! hush ! child. Use not that horrid word ; it 
curdles the blood of my heart, and makes you look as one 
ready for black deeds. No ! no ! child. But give me 
the money.” 


148 


CRIMORA. 


On one condition only will I give you the money, old 
W'oman ; which is, that that little imp, Tzella, who thinks 
herself so much better than everybody else, shall be sent » 
from here — put out of the way as soon as possible. To- 
morrow a vessel sails with miners for the Island of Cuba, 
and you have cunning enough to tell a good story to get 
her off. Will you do it, or not ? ” 

Charles, I have long thought of getting rid of her. 
You know why I hate her, and why I have kept her, and 
now, as you — shrewd boy ! — tell of a good way to be 
fairly free of her, I will do it. The method her mother 
has taken to conceal her existence renders it not only poli- 
tic, but proper ; and to-morrow I will hunt up the agent, 
and if he will give me anything for her, or if he will only 
take her and agree to keep her, he shall have her.” 

Right! old woman, and here’s the money 1 ” exclaimed 
the boy, and he dragged from his pockets about a hundred 
sovereigns, while the mother, trembling, with shame and 
fear, hastened to sew them up in the skirt of an under 
petticoat she had on. 

Ah, you are a cunning wench, as the Brummies say, 
for who but you would have thought of that method of 
darkening money. It’s safe ; for I don’t believe the 
Charleys will be hunting there after it, unless it be by 
your own consent, eh ? ” and he gave her a knowing wink. 

Take that, you little wretch ! ” said Margaret, as she 
hit him a hard rap on the side of his head. You 
boys Avho grow up in cities get your brains crammed with 
everything that is evil, before there is a chance to store 
there one good principle. As to myself — if I have a 
wicked impulse in my heart, if I have any cimning, I ob- 


CRIMOEA. 


149 


tained it during the years I lived with that vile hypocrite 
Smithers. I’ve seen him cheat the poor servants of their 
supper by accidentally losing the key of the pantry. I’ve 
seen him give to beggars the false money he could not pass 
to others. I’ve seen him give short pay to his wife’s 
dress-maker’s little girl, and make her believe when she 
returned for the remaining, that she had lost it ; and so 
let her go away with eyes blinded by tears, and a heart 
almost bursting. I’ve seen him hide his money in his 
cravat, and put it on when he went to bed, and so wear 
it all night — no, I mistake, I — ” 

Ah, old woman ! how should you know anythihg about 
his wearing his money about his neck all night, eh ? But, 
I know all, and I’ll not peach, no, not I ; ” and he fumbled 
in his pocket for, a cigar, while his mother, turning away, 
began poking the coals #hich had given their last light and 
heat, and were now burned out. 

“ Good,” continued the boy ; I just now remember, 
that in the vessel which sails with miners, Johnson, 
Cally’s lover, goes out as mate. Go to him ; he’ll take 
the little gipsy and sell her when he gets out there ; for 
Cally hates her as much as I do.” 

No, boy,” replied the mother, ‘‘ he must be kept in 
the dark respecting her, lest he trace out the secret and 
expose us ; but I will go to the agent, and tell him, that a 
poor relation, dying, had left the child with me, and that 
as I am too poor to take care of her, if he will give her 
small wages, and leave orders to have it all paid here to 
me, he may take her to pick ores, and work about as the 
children do up here in our Cornish mines.” 

13 ^ 


150 


CRIHORA. 


That’s the ticket ! That’s the go ! Then we’ll have 
enough for ourselves, and she’ll find that to be a lady isn’t 
quite so easy a matter as her little pertship has supposed. 
I’ll go and give her a kick for my farewell, and then I’ll to 
my bunk. Keep a good look-out, and if you see the 
Charleys about, give me warning, and I’ll be off* as the 
rooks are from the chimneys when the smoke gets in’ their 
eyes.” 


C RI M 0 R A . 


151 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

In another part of the world, at the very moment Stella 
was pronouncing those emphatic words which so calmed 
the troubled mind of her worthy husband — words which 
in her mouth were expressive of adoration and grateful 
content, a little child, with eyes streaming with tears, 
and little hands cla? ped and lifted up in supplication, knelt 
beside a narrow berth j all alone, and uttered the same sen- 
timent — God is good.” With this fragile voyager, 
however — this lily broken from the parent stem, and 
about to be swept away by the rough stream of adverse 
fortune — this was neither an expression of gratitude nor 
resignation ; it gushed up naturally as a necessity of the 
human heart under a sense of loneliness ; and was said 
over and over again in the most tender and earnest man- 
ner, to establish in her own mind a conviction that what 
she repeated was really true, and to gain courage by the 
companionship of sound, as children do who sing in the 
dark. 

‘‘ Ah, my little Santisima — at prayers, eh?” said a 
rough voice to the child, as the curtain of her room was put 
aside, Well, you can have as much of that as you like 
for about forty or fifty days, but after that you will proba- 
bly be on your knees for a different purpose, and with 
more work for your hands than for your tongue.” 


152 


CRIMOEA . 


‘‘ And shall I not then be allowed to pray ? ’’ said she, 
rising and casting a most imploring look into the dark face 
before her ; ‘‘ Indeed, the labor which I am told I must go 
about when I reach the far-off island does not worry me, 
for I shall like to work ; but if I cannot pray to God, who 
is always good, I should die ; for Mother Wellington 
always told me to pray — to never sleep without saying my 
prayers : and then, she said, God always listened to and 
loved the voice of little children — that it was like the in- 
cense of early flowers/’ 

Nonsense ! ” exclaimed the listener, why didn’t 
your mother teach you something useful, instead of filling 
your head with poetry, and fancy, and fine flummery? 
But you’ll soon get over all that. You’ll have here the in- 
cense of tarred ropes ; and a little sea sickness will bring 
you to such a feeling sense of this world’s realities^ that if 
you had been born an alligator you could not be freer from 
feminine fooleries. Yes, little Miss ; but don’t be alarm- 
ed ; nobody will hurt you. You’ll hear a great deal of 
noise and racket over your head, but there’s no fear. The 
vessel is stout and strong, and will yet carry, I suppose, 
many a cargo of these foolish miners to that fatal port of 
St. Jago ; ” and he shook his head as if saddened by the 
thought, and turned away to his duties. 

Cast off the forward hawser,” roared a voice through 
a huge brass speaking trumpet, and let her saving off a 
little. Fill away the fore-topsail. Cast off all.” 

At the last bidding the vessel reeled to the wind — she 
was free and afloat. Then followed the rapid steps of the 
busy mariner, the squeaking of blocks, the rattling of 
the rigging, mingled with the merry song of the sailors as 


CRIMOR A. 


153 


they swayed up the brpad fields of ’'filling canvass, and 
unfurled the lighter sails to the breeze. 

Brace up the fore yard. Down tacks, aft sheets, out 
bowlines. Hoist the main-top-gallant sail. Lay aloft and 
loose the main-royal. Port the helm. Steady,” were the^ 
orders that followed in quick succession, to the great 
amusement of all the passengers. I have said, to the 
amusement of all the passengers ; but I should make one 
exception in the person of the poor stranger-child, whom 
we have called Tzella. With no one to explain anything to 
her, she thought that the people were struggling and killing 
each other on the deck above her ; and, almost dying with 
fright, she crept into her berth and hid herself beneath the 
clothes. How long she remained thus, listening and pray- 
ing, she little knew, but at last, overeome by fatigue, she 
sank to sleep, with her lips reposing as they were left by the 
last words she uttered — God is good ! ” Her pure, white 
thoughts had ascended to heaven on the wings of her faith, 
and. now launched as literally on the wide ocean of life as 
on the broad waters of the world, she was an object worthy 
of the sympathy and love of all. 

The first three days out were days of storms, after which 
it cleared ofi*, and the officers had time to look about them. 

Where’s that little girl who came on board with the 
rest of the minel^ ? ” said the chief mate to the captain. 

I have not seen her since the first evening we hoisted 
sail, when I found her on her knees praying. And, by 
the way, in talking to her, I noticed that she answered 
like one who had had a religious and well educated mother ; 
while it seemed to me very strange that she should be sent 
off so, to an unhealthy climate, and at so tender an age, 
— be made to herd with those ignorant miners, and 


154 


CKIMORA. 


be thought of any value in that peculiar and almost mys- 
terious branch of business.” 

“ Ah, Mr. Mate, you have not been in this trade as long 
as I have ; and I can tell you, that in mines, as well as in 
^ctories, children have their enervating, cruel, daily tasks 
— tasks in which they render as much service as one could 
past adolescense, and by which, perhaps they earn not 
enough to keep either body or soul decently clothed. You 
have, doubtless, read of, and wondered over, the labor of 
children in the Hymalaya mountains, without once imagin- 
ing that the same was imposed on sons and daughters of 
your own countrymen. The miners of Gungowly and 
Barabice are farmed out to Teekedars, who contract for 
slave or other labor in the most advantageous manner. 
The levels or passages are driven into the side of the 
mountain, along the vein of ore, but of so small a size as to 
allow only children to crawl in and out readily. The 
result is, that all employed there are horribly deformed. 
Scores of children under twelve years of age are forced 
day by day into these long galleries. On arriving at the 
terminus — sometimes hundreds of feet distant from the 
mouth — a leathern bag of ore is attached to their 
shoulders by a strap, which they, on their hands and 
knees, drag out to the light. Thus they pass their misera- 
ble lives, with only a blessed certainty that death will not 
evade them many years.” 

But you cannot suppose,” said the mate, inquiringly, 

that fhis little delicate girl is to be subjected to any such 
hardships ? ” 

Ah, Mr. Mate, when you have been so long in this 
trade as I have, you will believe that these mine agents, like 


CRIMORA, 


155 


the agents on Irish estates, pay no regard to the neces- 
sities, sufferings, capacities of tenants. They have their 
masters to please, and it must be done, or they lose their 
lucrative places. You know Sir Charles Lemons ? an able 
and generous man in these matters, but, like an Rbsen|; 
landlord, knows nothing of the modus operandi by which 
his interests are sustained — nothing of the means bj 
which the wealthy shareholders obtain their enormous pro- 
ceeds from these foreign mSies. No, Mr. Mate, cognizant 
as I have been of the ‘ tricks of this trade,’ I am little 
liable to be astonished* at anything ; and I assure you, 
shall not be surprised to learn that she — the puny thing 
you speak of — is destined for the dark caverns of St. 
Jago.” 

“ I cannot credit it, captain,” replied the mate ; but 
I will go at once and see her, and find out for myself.” 

The first officer, like most seafaring men, had a rough 
exterior but a kind heart, and descending to Tzella’s room 
was almost overwhelmed with commiseration at the sight 
before him. There lay the poor child, almost breathing 
her last breathy and faintly calling, mother, mother, 
mother ! ” She had evidently tasted no food for the four 
days they had been at sea, and had she not been discover- 
ed at the moment she was, would have been beyond 
human aid. The mate saw at once the danger of delay, 
and, seizing her in his arms, rushed on deck. Reaching 
the galley, he found some soup that was prepared for din- 
ner, which he proceeded to administer little by little, with 
most cheering results. He then replaced her in bed, allow- 
ed her a little sleep, then awoke her to receive more nour- 


156 


CRIMORA, 


ishment ; and thus unremittingly and feelingly tended her 
till all danger was past. 

We will not attempt any description of the joy the good 
mate felt, when, a few days after the events we have just 
described, little Tzella ran along the deck, and throwing 
her arms about his neck, expressed with tears and half- 
uttered words such gratitude as would have satisfied the 
most exacting of benefactors. 

As Tzella grew strong, she grew playful, and in a short 
time was the pet of all the sailors. The mate, when off 
duty, always had her by the hand or held her on his knee. 
His dark face had lost its sternness to her, for she saw in 
his mild eyes the eharities of a good heart. She would 
clutch his tarpaulin, or more homely sou’-wester, and fling 
it on the deck, and sometimes almost overboard ; but ere 
he could reprimand her, she had won his favor by pushing 
back his dark hair from his forehead, or twining her little 
fingers in his black bushy whiskers. She was not neglect- 
ed even when the mate was at his official post, for then he 
had many a kind word for her ; and in the long watches 
of the night he was often gladdened by her companionship, 
which beguiled the hours of their tediousness. 

Weeks sped away^ and the vessel neared the port of her 
destination. The winds came more warm and mild, and 
beautiful birds were seen about the rigging, or flying 
northward and southward from one island to another, till 
Tzella seemed filled with the idea that she was approaching 
Paradise. The grief which at times had torn her like a 
tempest when she thought of her young playmates far 
away, had entirely subsided. 0, how wise that Provi- 
dence which so soon wipes from the youthful mind the deep- 


CRIMOKA. 


157 


fest stamp of sorrow ! If one, knowing no home nor parents, 
could be happy, it was now our Tzella. 

We tremble at the approaching storm, while it brings, 
perhaps, the very seedlings of utmost beatitude ! We court 
the languid content of the warm southern breeze, laden, for 
aught we know, with desolation! We are finite ! This is 
also a wise provision of Providence. 

One morning the mate did not appear on deck, and, of 
course, Tzella felt lonesome. She wandered about awhile 
among the sailors, and then stole below to the officer’s 
state-room. Her gentle knock was answered by a — 
come in, Tzella ; I thought you would be down to see 
me,” and he reached out his hand to help her slide back 
his heavy door. 

What is the matter, good Mr. Mate,” said the child, 
why don’t you come on deck ? we are so lonesome with- 
out you.” 

I am quite ill this morning, my little bird, but shall be 
with you in a day or two. In the mean time you will take 
good care of me ? ” said the mate, interrogatively. 

Indeed I will,” said the little girl, patting her hands. 
“ I will take the best care of you, for you saved me from 
dying, and have been so good all the time. I will go now 
and tell the steward to make you some broth ; and I will 
tell the captain to send you some medicine from the niedi- 
cine chest ; and I will come and read to you. But ah 1 
I have no bible with me,” and she stood thoughtful a mo- 
ment ; after which, in a lower voice, she said, but I will 
pray for you here, as you saw me pray when I first came 
on board ; and as God is good, He will hear me. — Mother 
Wellington alwa 3 ^s said He would hear me.” 

14 


158 


CRIMOHA. 


The good mate grew worse, and Tzella tended him. 
She brought to him all he asked for, and as he had taken 
from his chest a bible — (a small and richly bound volume, 
presented to him by his betrothed) — she read to him from 
its comforting pages. At night, after he had fallen asleep, 
she kneeled beside him and prayed ; and bowing her head 
down to the very floor, mingled burning tears with her 
earnest supplications for the recovery of her kind friend. 

One night, when feehng more ill than usual, the poor 
man called little Tzella to him, gave her the bible, and 
told her if she ever met with the one whose name was 
written in it, to tell her he died thinking of her. Some 
hours afterwards the captain was suddenly called below to 
see the last struggle of his worthy mate, who, with a few 
kind words for the care of Tzolla, sunk to his long sleep. 

On the following morning when Tzella came on deck, all 
the men, with heads uncovered, were gathered aft, about 
a human form, wrapped up tightly in a piece of new and 
well stitched canvass. The forward sails had been thrown 
aback and all rigging made fast. The most solemn still- 
ness seemed to have settled on all created things, and an 
impressive sadness was depicted on every sun-burnt vis- 
age. Tzella crept softly along, and looking up into the 
faces of each, sought to read what her own heart had al- 
ready begun to reveal to her. At that moment the bell 
on the forward deck tolled out its startling funereal notes. 
They seemed to fill the still air with mourning, and struck 
upon the ear of the little listener as her own knell. She 
approached the captain, and as he opened on the capstan 
the holy volume, she kneeled down close to his feet, and 
in silence watched and wept. When a chapter had been 


CRIMORA. 


159 


read, the corpse was placed on a board, ready to be slid 
over the ship’s side. The dreariest of pauses succeeded. 
A signal was then given, the bell tolled again, and the 
blue waters of the deep wrapped their folds about the poor 
mate, and he rested in that bosom that had borne liim 
and rocked him from infancy upward. 

On the following day, Tzella sat alone on the quarter 
deck, tracing on her memory the sad lessons of her little 
life ; but none now heeded her. The mate only had 
learned her history, and no one else had cared enough for 
her to ask it ; and when the high rocks on the right and 
left of the entrance of the harbor of St. Jago were being 
passed ; when, after winding up the long, narrow bay, • 
and the sound of the chain cable rattled to the weight 
of the anchor ‘4et go” — -she seemed as one bereft of 
hope, if not of the very breath of life. 


160 


jt 

CKIMORA. 


CHAPTER XIX, 

Tzella — the poor little, lonely Tzella — busy with 
thoughts of home, long continued her position on the quar- 
ter-deck, before any ^ one took sufficient notice of her to 
rouse her to a consciousness of the importance of the 
changes about to take place. Eventually some Spanish 
officers from the Diigana having arrived on board to exam- 
ine the ship’s papers, spoke to her with their usual bland- 
ness of manners, and remarked on the regularity of her 
features and the delicacy of her skin, which most particu- 
larly attracted their attention. Their uniform, their affa- 
ble address, soon found w^ay through the eyes of the little 
foreigner to her heart, and the past vanished like a 
shadow. The language she listened to she did not under- 
stand but it had a charm in it, for it was accompanied 
by every sign of grace and tenderness. She then, for the 
first time, cast her eyes earnestly abroad. The hills sur- 
rounding the harbor, though rugged and uninhabited, had 

parental look about them, for they nourished many an 
object young and tender as herself. The town, with its 
low tile-covered houses, unlike anything she had ever 
seen, w^as peculiarly attractive. Above it, on a command- 
ing spot, stood a little church, which brought to her mind, 
heaven, her prayers, and desire to have a mother. 


CRIMOEA. 


161 

Twilight had lingered long on the summits of the moun- 
tains of St. Jago; but when , gone, the priests came out 
with their torches and marched along the shore. It was a 
festa eve, and seemed to attract the attention of the new 
comers, and impress their minds with a kind of supersti- 
tious awe, and respect for the land they were about to 
adopt, but on which, as yet, they had not been permitted 
to place their feet. 

Little Tzella, naturally prayerful, naturally devout, 
gazed on the scene with the utmost reverence ; and fear- 
ing that she might be disturbed in her sacred admiration, 
crept into a corner between a boat, which had been pushed 
aft, and the quarter railings. There all alone, with 
nothing gazing on her but the stars and her Creator, she 
kneeled down, and lifting up her little hands, as in prayer^ 
watched the procession of those, called holy men. She 
watched on, she knew not how long ; but a dimness by and 
by stole over her eyes, and when the last torch had disap- 
peared behind the almacen of the Campania del Cohre^ she ^ 
was fast asleep — with no covering but the dew, which 
came as if shaken from angels’ wings, to light on her pallid 
brow, and stay the fever’s heat that had begun to’ burn 
about her temples. 

On the following day, when the numerous senseless 
ceremonies and formalities wLich retard the transaction of 
business in all Spanish ports, had been gone through with, 
a boat came off with the mining agent to take to the shore 
the newly-arrived miners, very much needed in the new 
workings of the Company — death having made fearful 
havoc among its laborers. When little Tzella presented 
herself at the gang-way to be handed down, she appeared 
14 * 


162 


OPtTMORA. 


of SO delicate and fragile a structure, that the agent ex- 
claimed : — “ What have you brought me here ? — the 
last light offspring of consumption ? — the gauze of a 
phantom’s chemise ? What can I do with her ? Of what 
use can she be ? But she will not live a month, and then 
our mutual difficulties will end. In the meantime, the 
captain at the mine must find something for her to do by 
which she can earn her living.” 

“ Oh ! I will work very hard ! ” said the child, in a . 
voice tremulous with fear, as she descended the rope 
ladder, “ and then you will like me. I know I can pick 
ores, and do many things at the mines ; for little girls, no 
bigger than me, work all day at the Cornish mines, aw^ay 
off in the country I came from.” 

That was well said, my little girl ! ” was the agent’s 
response ; “ you show the right sort of stuff, notwith- 
standing you look like a lily-stem ; and perhaps you are 
are only a singed kitten, after all.” 

^ Tzella took courage ; and wffien they landed at the 
wharf, though there was no one to take her by the hand 
to lead her along the rough way, and comfort her little 
throbbing heart, something within her breast supported 
her, talked to her, and gave her strength to proceed. 
Her guardian spirit did not forsake her. 

They wound their w^ay up a narrow^, steep street, that 
had been hewn out of the lime rock, (which almost 
destroys the sight of a stranger by its shining whiteness, 
as the sun pours on it), and reaching a small square 
wffiere the post office, prison, and other public buildings 
stood, turned to the right, and entered the court-yard of a 
Spanish house. 


CRIMORA. 


163 


If on landing Tzella had been amused by the oddity 
of all she saw, she was more so here by the scene 
that was being enacted. A hundred mules, huddled 
together, were receiving their various burdens from slaves, 
or were waiting more important loads, in the shape of the 
Enghsh miners just arrived. The chief director, or mule- 
teer was on a spirited horse prancing about much to the 
confusion of the blacks, who were occasionally particularly 
reminded of his presence by the snap of a whip on their 
backs, if everything did not go expeditiously. * 

I have said that Tzella was amused, but this cruelty to 
the negroes brought tears into the eyes of the little stranger, 
who, though alarmed at the black man, on whom she now 
gazed for the first time, thought he must have feeling, — • 
unaware that education and refinement made suffering 
keen, and that ignorance stinted sensibility. 

When the mules were ready for a start, breakfast was 
ordered, and whites and blacks being seated on the edge 
of the low verandah, which here, as usual, encircled the 
court, helped themselves with their fingers from a huge 
dish of boiled salt meat (Tasaxo) that was passed round. 
The lack of a plate was soon supplied by the bread, (also 
distributed) Avhich consisted of large pieces of casave made 
of the casave root. This article of food was in cakes as 
big as a hogshead head, and as thin as a penny. 

The negroes and natives enjoyed the repast, but the 
foreigners thought it hard commons. Some of them threw 
away both meat and bread, which made the muleteer laugh 
in his sleeve, and say to himself, They’ll see the day 
when they’ll be glad to come back and pick it up.” 


164 


CRIMOR A. 


When breakfast was finished, the miners mounted the 
mules and defiled from the court and along the narrow 
streets as best they could ; for many of the English found 
it difficult to retain their seats — the animals being fur- 
nished with no other saddles than the empty sacks in which 
they had brought ores from the mines. Tzella had not 
proceeded ten rods before she lost her balance ; but being 
on a very little mule, the distance of her fall was but tri- 
fling, and with only a slight bruise she reached the ground. 
She, however, would have been trampled on by the suc- 
ceeding train, had not a negro sprang forward and res- 
cued her. This he did with the utmost solicitude ; and 
after having examined her — the hlanea maraposa^ as he 
called her — somewhat minutely, to see if she were hurt, 
replaced her on the beast, and for the remainder of the 
distance walked beside her, and held her securely in her 
place. The slave manifested a great interest in her, and 
the mule seemed aware of the delicate character of the 
burden he bore, for, to his praise be it said, he stepped 
with the utmost caution and gentleness. 

In single file — the only way in which either the horses 
or mules of the country will travel — they passed along 
the marshes at the east of the town, which, day and night, 
emit their deadly miasma — the funeral pall about this pro- 
verbially unhealthy place — and began to ascend the hills. 
Tzella could speak to no one, yet she was cheerful, — for 
the scenery was picturesque and wild, and thete was much 
to amuse her. Large flocks of wild parrots flew from w'ood 
to wood or croaked from neighboring trees, where their 
bright plumage was seen in all its beauty. On reaching 
the summit of the first range, the shore of the distant bay 


CEIMORA. 


165 


was again visible, and, to her delight, there was stalking 
there a large troop of flamingos, which charmed her by 
their resemblance, she said, to British soldiers. 

After a three hours’ ride over valley and hill, they came 
to the last ascent, and soon dismounted on a height where 
men, 'women and children — most of them black — were va- 
riously employed ; and where the sound of hammers, the • 
puffing of steam engines, the noise of business, told of the 
power of capital and the ingenuity of man. 

Tzella could not say that she was unhappy. Yet she 
felt a strange loneliness in the midst of this peopled wil- 
derness ; and when the captain came out to call the roll, 
to see if all had arrived, she found herself in the presence 
of a stern-visaged, burly Englishman, who, with a huge 
sword (a Spanish machetta) at his side, and a whip in his 
hand, looked little mercy at any of them. It took but a 
few moments to apportion them to their different overseers, 
and a few moments more found them all as busily at work 
as though they had been on the spot for years. Little 
Tzella’s turn came, but what was to be done with her? 
The puerile little monkey, as the man called her, puzzled 
the superintendent. Unfortunately, however, for the poor 
creature, at that juncture of affairs a minor officer came 
from the main shaft, and reported more hands wanted in 
the long lower level, east. 

Glad to hear it,” answered the supervisor, for I was 
just tormenting my head about what to do with this less- 
than-nothing of a feminine brat. I suppose they can use 
her below in assorting the ores for the kibble — which 
will both keep her busy and out of the way. Take her 
along with such numbers of the new hands as are needed ; 


166 


CRi MORA. 


but mind and report to me at night, the parts of the mines ‘ 
in which their work is appointed.’’ 

‘‘ I will attend to it all,” said the mate ; “ so come 
along, little sniffling, and begin your descent, for it will 
take you a small age to reach the bottom of the shaft un- 
less you fall, in which case you would arrive very soon. 
Do you understand going down the ladders ? ” 

No sir,” said Tzella, trembling from head to foot, as 
she approached and stood on the brink of the shaft ; I 
never saw one of those dreadful dark wells till now — and 
must I go in it ? ” 

Indeed you must, miss ; and the only safe way for 
you is to get into the kibble and be lowered down by the 
engine, and that will take hardly no-time ; so jump in, 
and when you get down there, hop out lively and tell 
Captain Patten you ’ve come to pick ores.” 

‘‘ And is there a captain down there who speaks Eng- 
lish?” asked Tzella, with eyes streaming wdth tears, 

“ and do good people live down in that deep well ? ” 

Aye, a whole township of them ; and if you mind your 
p’s and q’s, and help them all you can, they’ll like you, 
and you will be as much at home in a few days as you 
would in London. To be sure you won’t find the ^ Strand,’ 
nor the ‘ Boulevards ’ there, yet you’ll find streets enough 
to promenade in whenever you feel like it.” 

Poor Tzella, in an agony of fear, hardly comprehended a 
word the man had uttered. She saw hanging at the mouth, 
of the shaft (a well, as she called it), a large iron bucket, 
shaped like an egg-shell, with about a quarter of its largest 
end removed. Into that she had been ordered to place 
herself ; but she had not the power to obey. AVhat was to 


CmMORA. 


167 


be done ? The difiiculty ivas soon removed, “for the miner 
took her, and tossed her into the vessel as he would have 
done a rag baby into a cradle, and on the next instant (the 
engineer having removed the sustaining clog of the wind- 
lass), she was descending, with a fearful rapidity, down, 
down, down, into the dark, damp bowels of the earth, one 
thousand and one hundred feet 


168 


CRIMORA. 


CHAPTER XX. 

While the peasant Bolaro mourns the loss of one of his 
flock, which has gone astray in the mountains, and Miss 
Wellington and her son Charley are weaving a sad woof 
from their own unfortunate hearts ; while the Italian stran- 
ger sickens to death ; while John Knox Calvin Smithers 
lays down those trains which when fired are to destroy 
him ; while poor forsaken little Tzella descends into the 
dark caverns of the mines of Cuba ; and the beautiful 
Aluine approaches an eventful epoch in her destiny, there 
are figuring on the stage other noted characters who, 
though unbeknown to any of the enumerated debutants j 
will have much to do with the future happiness of some of 
them. 

Have you seen la belle danseuse ? said one of the 
Italian cantadini to a companion. 

No. Who do you speak of? 

Not seen her ! ” 

No.’’ 

‘‘ Where could your miserable eyes have been ? ” 

In my head, where they should be — and not in thy 
pocket, as thine are often in mine.” 

They might as well be anywhere else as in your head^ ' 
seeing, or rather not seeing, you make no use of them ; for 


CRIMORA. 


169 


if a man lives in Italy, Germany, France, or -anywhere this 
side the undiscovered passage at the North Pole, and does 
not see the ^divine Fanny,’ he ought to be Jugernauted 
for a heartless heathen.” # 

That is to say, he should be jugged — eh? Well, it 
may be so, but for a dancer I can’t get up much enthu- 
siasm, though I suppose yours goes up just in proportion 
as she goes up. You are a perfect thermometer — elevated 
by heat communicated from abroad.” 

“ Stenno, you certainly were not stinted in stupidity. 
Your father could not have had more than one such.” 

You speak truth for once ; let me also speak truth 
and say. Your father might have had several hke you, 
and yet never have been commended.” 

I will not jest with you more, Stenno ; but if you lore 
me, go and see the divine Fanny. She dances to-night in 
the Carlo Felici, and if every turn she makes does not turn 
your brain — if every pirouette does not, give your pisolitic 
heart a whirl — if every wreath she makes with her beauti- 
ful arms does not wTeath round your soul whole strings of 
ecstacies, you are a perfect cannibal.” 

Then, you would have me see her, and go mad ?” 

Yes, Stenno, wild, stark mad ; for that’s the fashion. 
She carries all Europe with her.” 

I pity her — what a load she must have.” 

She carries them with her legs, Stenno.” 

I think, if I carried as much, I should have to use my 
legs too. But you give her to me only in detached pieces. 
First you talk of her arms, then of her legs ; why don’t 
you give the whole at once ? ” 

15 


170 


CRIMORA. 


Well, Stenno, you have seen, in the Pescatori palace, 
Paola’s painting of Venus rising from the sea ? In the 
rounded limb — in the graceful outline of form — in the 
goddess-like mein — in aeriel buoyancy of person — she 
has a rival in the divine Fanny. If there can be poetry in 
thought — if there can be music in sound — if there can 
be harmony in anjdhing — there is harmony, music, and 
poetry in every motion of this new inspiration from the 
terpsichorean heaven. Her form is voluptuous ; her action 
dazzling and winning. Her step startles you like that of 
the unexpected fawn ; the undulations of her body cap- 
tivate and subdue ; her — ” 

‘‘ Enough, enough ! I will rush to the Carlo Felici — 
and with the rest of Europe give her my heart ; for one 
among so many millions will not be a noticed burden.” 

That’s right, Stenno, go= — go and applaud her for her 
beauty, if for nothing else ; for of all the good taste dis- 
played by the Almighty, none surpasses that of a beautiful 
woman ! And we should show bad taste not to appreciate it 
— we should pay a poor compliment to our Creator were 
we unmindful of it.” 

For religion’s sake, then, you would have me go.” 

Yes, Stenno; for the love you bear your mother — 
for the devotion you owe to the Virgin, go and see her.” 

Well, arnica^ for religion’s sake, for the divine Fanny’s 
sake, and for your sake. I’ll go to Carlo Felici ; but first, 
make me a promise that if I go mad, you’ll see that — I 
don’t get married.” 

“ Ever a wag, Stenno ; ever pretending to hate the wo- 
men, while no one in their heart adores them more. I 


CRIMORA. 


171 


pretend, profess to love them — I love them for a thousand 
reasons, and had I time, would tell you all of them.” 

The old fisherwoman Marcan — how does she stand on 
your list, eh ? ” 

‘‘ Do not recall her to my mind, I pray you. She 
was all that could take a man by storm, but turning into a 
tempest, she tossed my barque high and dry — I say drv^ 
for I shed no tears. But she is an exception to women. 
She hates her sex, and does all she can to injure it ; speaks 
ill of every one — confirms by her acts what she talks. 
She is now one of the devil’s principal housewives. Let us 
forget her, and talk of angels.” 

“ Without feathers ? ” 

Yes ; even the divine Fanny, who is flesh and blood 
of the fairest tint — a sylph, yet tangible ; — at least, they 
say so.” 

Say so ? ” 

Yes, Stenno. The first evening she arrived here, 
Mark Balbo tells me he carried her secretly in a portantino 
to Prince Carignano’s palace, where she was admitted by 
the prince himself.” 

Aye, aye ! I see now why the prince has been absent 
lately, amico. When the stir about Napoleon began, 
every one inquired where the prince was ; and they were 
told he had gone to Vienna to negotiate. Pretty negotia- 
tion ! ” 

u pretty negotiation, Stenno. The prince met this 
divinity on the Prado ; fell in love with her ; engaged her 
to come here, and preceded her only one day. In Vienna 
she was the reigning belle. She held the Emperor’s heart, 
the Court, the People, all within her glove.” 


172 


CRIMORA. 


You mean, within jupe piqueeT 

perhaps ; but in talking of our angels you must 
not descend to vulgar particulars ; — do not suppose they 
ever even eat ; for what do they become when you see 
them swallowing a yard of maccaroni, yawning, dressing, 
and the like ? Throw a veil around our Venus de Medici 
and she is at once doubly attractive ; for of a woman, the 
imagination never fails to render beautiful all that is not 
seen, while that which is seen often disenchants. There was 
a time, you know, when women were made to go naked, 
to deprive them of those arts, — that coquetry in dress 
which, with its unreal witcheries, fills all the earth with wild 
delight like a vast phosphoric ball ; and, as the same sort 
of a ball would, sends us on the wildest chases imaginable.” 

Would you then, have me. believe that this same 
divinity, about whom you become like Samson’s foxes and 
set the world on fire, is one who only creeps into your 
heart through imaginary charms ? ” 

‘‘ No, no, dear Stenno. We see enough of her to know" 
her real.” 

And yet haimts you wdth — herself? ” 

Yes, for she is all that perfeetion wdiich Nature could 
mould, and all that fancy could picture.” 

Farewell, amico Phosphoro, I’ll meet you at the Carlo 
Felici.” 

Foav people, none, perhaps, had ever dazzled creation as 
had the dan sense of whom Stenno and Signor Phosphoro 
(as he w"as nicknamed) Avere talking. She had appeared 
at the A"arious European Courts, and there Avas not a 
croAvned head that did not covet her smiles, her society, 
her influence. To unrivalled personal charms, she added 


CRIMORA. 


173 


great conversational powers, while her quickness of percep- 
tion and penetration made her an able diplomatist. By 
intimacy with those in power, she became versed in all the 
various intrigues of the day, and often rendered essential 
service to the diplomatists most devoted to her — persons 
who received unbounded praise for their astuteness, but 
whose source of knowledge was little imagined. 

This celebrated woman appeared in Paris when France 
was trembling with anarchy and disorder, and when 
Napoleon stood on the church steps of St. Honore, and 
commanded the battery against the people. She was then 
but a mere child ; but giving great promise of future 
renown, was much caressed. On one evening she might 
be seen at the theatre of the Palais Royal, electrifying a 
crowded house by her fairy-like step ; on the next, at the 
Petite Trainon, seated beside a duchess, listening to state 
affairs. A few days after she might be recognized in the 
streets of Berlin, riding with a Prussian princess towards 
the palace. By rumor, it might be inferred, when a few 
weeks had passed, that the King of Sardinia had been very 
courteous to her ; and then, that at Vienna, a fair incog- 
nita^ supposed (known) to be the famous danseuse^ was 
with the emperor at a masked ball, from whence they re- 
turned and were admitted at a private entrance to the im- 
perial palace. On the next evening, as a most elegant and 
beautiful young woman appeared at the soire at Schonbrunn, 
it was hinted by some of the courtiers — who were deter- 
mined to play their cards accordingly — that this same 
Venus was no less than the incognita of the previous even- 
ing’s entertainment. 

15 * 


174 


CRIMQE A. 


If the emperor was fascinated by her, the courtiers were no 
less so ; and those who were freely admitted to her presence 
were more envied than though they had received the deco- 
ration of the Legion of Honor. Her drawing-room w^as 
soon the fashion ; for where have not the blandishments of 
refinement, of titled elegance, of luxury and wealth, been 
all-sufficient to cover up every seeming defect in the moral 
character ? Before her door, every morning, stood the 
carriages of the nobility ; and in the evening, when she ap- 
peared on the stage, the house was crowded with the elite 
of the Austrian capital. After the play was over, there 
was usually an adjournment to the apartments of the 
fair danseuse^ where a grand entertainment, a la four- 
chette^ added new lustre to her ever ascendant star. 

It is not important, nor would it be convenient to follow 
this gorgeous damsel through all her career of splendid 
gaiety, conquests, triumphs, dissipation, and diplomacy ; but 
W’e have been obliged to introduce her — she being an 
agent in an affair which has much to do with the denoue- 
ment of our heroine. An. autobiography, however, of this 
magnificent woman would astonish the world, and would be 
read with extraordinary avidity by the whole human race. 
It would give us, perhaps, as great an insight into the 
characteur des Jiomme^ as could all the works together that 
have ever been published. And though it might shock the 
heteroscian puritans of the old school, who deemed it so 
sinful for any of God’s independent creatures to live for 
pleasure, though no sin to put to torture and to death a whole 
host of them for religion’s sake ; and though it might throw 
an occasional tinge into the modest cheek of sixteen, and 
startle the prudish who had always skipped over, when 


CRIMORA. 


175 


reading the Old Testament, the private character of the 
heroes of biblical times, — I doubt not by its novelty it 
would afford infinite pleasure to the intelligent of both 
sexes ; and in its very truthfulness — being stranger than 
fiction — tend to throw off the remaining shackles which 
the priestcraft and bigotry of earlier times have left still 
clinging to our heels. "But the false delicacy of our age 
will not permit it ; and thus, on the delta of our minds we 
heap up the mud of ignorance, to be washed away at some 
future period. 


176 


CKIMORA. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

In January, 1816, a divorce was decreed between Char- 
lotte, second daughter of Maximilian Joseph, King of Ba- 
varia, and the King of Wurtemburg.* The Duke of 
Reichstadt was then only five years of age, and probably 
cared little who his grandfather married ; though, had he 
been aware of the effect such a movement was to have on 
his destiny, he would have had some cause to ponder. 

Charlotte was just twenty-four years old when she re- 
nounced her marriage vow with the King of Wurtemberg. 
She was gay and very beautiful, and just such a woman as 
any king or prince would love to have stand beside him as 
representative of his good taste and his power to conquer, 
— just such a woman, too, who could, if she loved her 
‘‘ lord and master,” make him her most perfect slave, even 
when seeming herself to be the serving. Her manners, 
however, were too free, her address too forward to please 
a husband or a lover ; though they were just such as would 
draw around any fair female a crowd of admirers. 

Most women, when much in society, and their hearts 
are not occupied, have a kind of frankness in their de- 

♦ Frederic I., the noble, majestic Barbarossa, was the hero our late 
Frederick I., of Wurtemburg, thought to emulate. 


CRIMOR A. 


177 


meanor, which rather courts than repels attention. They 
lose that diffidence by which the rustic often chains the 
hearty while they, as belles, only dazzle the mind. They 
are those who easily win husbands, but often fail to keep 
them. 

Charlotte captivated all w^ho approached her, and the 
King of Wurtemburg' >vas one of her first subjects ; but 
her heart was as untouched as that of the wild bird who 
came and perched on the pinnacles of the altar while the 
marriage ceremony was proceeding, but flew away as with 
the sigh of the maid, when the priest said amen. 

Charlotte’s husband was a man of talent, high spirit and 
military bearing, but was a tyrant. He required unex- 
ceptional devotion in his subjects — in his wife even more. 
Had she really loved him, she would have willingly sub- 
mitted to the restraints imposed upon her ; but, as it was, 
she flew to the gay courtiers for relief, and embittered the 
days of her lord. Her gallantries continued till a divorce 
ensued, when, in the same*year, she married the Emperor 
of Austria. 

The imbecile, treacherous Francis took Charlotte for his 
fourth wife, — captivated by her as her first husband was, 
and by the same method of attack. That she made him a 
better consort than she did the King of Wurtemberg is 
problematical, but that she was fully capable of assisting 
the former in his many intrigues, there is no reason to 
doubt ; and that she also counselled him into many follies, 
has been often surmised. 

Charlotte had, at least, admired the daring of the King 
of Wurtemburg, but she could hardly respect Francis till 
he had wiped off the disgrace of having his sceptre four 
times taken from him by the great hero of France, and as 


178 


CRIMORA. 


many times gratuitously returned. If she found any con- 
solation in contingencies, it was in the fact that the wife of 
the Emperor of France had been obliged to return to 
Austria for protection, and that the son of Napoleon was in 
her hands. 

In the north of Italy, Napoleon had re-established the* 
ancient Republic of Liguira. A portion of that region, 
stretching from the Mediterranean towards the frontiers of 
Austria, he had bequeathed to his child, the King of 
Rome. This measure had a pohtical bearing, and w^as w’ell 
understood ; and showed that same foresight and sagacity 
which had characterised his whole life. 

Charlotte’s first ambition, and that to which she incited 
the emperor, was to retrieve the losses Austria had sus- 
tained — advance further than ever into Italy — take 
Lombardy and Sardinia, and make the strong-hold, Genoa, 
the main key to all. 

Austria has always been celebrated for the number and 
the infamy of her spies ; but, git this time, they were re- 
doubled. There was not an Italian city that did not teem 
with them, and not a court but what entertained some 
emissary, whose real designs w^ere not knowm. Years, 
however, passed away, and no provocation offered of suffi- 
cient importance to make any new aggression on the part 
of Austria at all justifiable ; though her secret agents had 
orders to avail themselves of everything on w^hich could 
rest any plausible pretext for a demonstration. Charlotte 
finally planned the following : 

Aware that the celebrated danseusey the divine Fanny, 
was an Austrian subject, — a person sufficiently beloved at 
home, and sufficiently conspicuous to create a great sensa- 
tion if any untoward event should happen to her, — re- 


CRIMORA. 


179 


solved to try an experiment, though on a trivial basis. 
Through her agents, every effort possible was to be made 
to create disturbance at ^ the dancer’s appearance at the 
Carlo Felici in Genoa, and finally have her carried off by 
force. To do this, they spread themselves over the city, 
and talked with all they met — inflaming them against the 
Austrians, and urging them to show this so-called fair fa- 
vorite, that they neither countenanced her nor the sove- 
reign mistress whom she served. One of these spies fell 
in with il Signor Phosphoro, who, understanding his 
schemes better than the Austrian imagined, set himself ac- 
tively to work to counteract the effects of the miscreant’s 
labors. 

We have seen how well Phosphoro succeeded with 
Stenno, — and he was no less successful with all whom he 
met ; so, before the rising of the curtain, he was sure that 
the bella ballerina* s reception would be flattering and 
agreeable. He knew, also, that an attempt would be 
made to carry her off, and he had planned so as to frus- 
trate that too. 

Prince Carignano’s portantino was of a peculiar color and 
his servants wore a livery of green. In a portantino of a 
peculiar color it was known the fair danseuse usually left 
the theatre to — return, perhaps, home ; so the despera- 
dos felt no uncertainty about their game, and laid wait 
accordingly. Phosphoro, in the mean time, took care to 
inform the Princess de Carignano through her servants, 
that her husband’s plan that night, was to bring home ,his 
inamorata ; and that if she would disguise herself and has- 
ten to the door just before the danseusCy the portantino 
would be in readiness. 


180 


CRIMORA. 


To play an amusing joke on her husband, the princess 
went to the Carlo Felici. The house was crowded from 
top to bottom, and, when the curtain rose, a breathless si- 
lence pervaded the audience ; but when the angel Fanny 
leaped upon the boards, the house trembled with applause, 
as though an earthquake was rolling under it. Those who 
had planned her overthrow were much disappointed, — 
though, towards the termination of la Cachucha,” they 
succeeded in greatly displeasing her. Their last scheme, 
however, they were sure of, — and when the green and 
gold portantino had received its fair burden, they were 
ready to direct it to the appointed place of rendezvous. 
The ride appeared to the princess to be long, but she final- 
ly stepped out in a dark alley, and was immediately pushed 
into a low dirty room, where w'ere seated several beggars 
and ruffianly fellows of the lowest class. 

The princess uttered a cry of astonishment and threw 
off her thick veil ; then remembering herself, and that fear 
and modesty w^ould avail nothing with such men, demanded, 
in an imperious tone, the cause of the insolence. 

‘‘ The princess ! the princess ! ” exclaimed several at 
once, — for they all recognised her, — and in an instant 
the room w^as clear. Unexpectedly relieved, she fied back 
to her portantmo^ and ordered the men — whom she found 
not to be her own servants — to her palace ; and by the 
private entrance, to be sure, determined to have some 
sport yet out of her rather disagreeable evening. On ar- 
riying home, the door was opened by the prince in person, 
and she was most affectionately escorted to his private 
apartments, where he was about to give her a truly cor- 
dial embrace. . “ Between the cup and the lip,’’ &c., — 


GRIMORA. 


181 

but in this case it vras the veil, — the removing of which 
sent him from the room with the utmost haste, followed by 
the wild hearty laugh of his own wife. 

When these acts were taking place, the divine Fanny 
was being escorted by most faithful and true, but poor, 
untitled admirers, to her own mansion in the Strada 
Nuova. There, much to her surprise, she was quietly 
landed. Her chagrin now surpassed all she had expe- 
rience^at the theatre ; for she supposed that the prince, 
having seen that she had many enemies, had intentionally, 
and, as a slight, ordered his servants to take her to her 
own apartments. Seeing, however, several of the common 
people following across the marble court, she stopped at 
the foot of the stairs to ask the meaning, — wishing to 
know to whom she was indebted for this great courtesy. 
At first all hesitated to respond, but finally, hat in hand, 
Phosphoro proceeded to speak for the rest. 

Bella Signora,” said he, ^^for myself I claim nothing; 
but being poor, and not able to reward these, our faithful 
and good citizens, for the service they have done, I would 
ask you to extend to them your generosity.” 

^^But to what service do you refer, my ho7ii amici? ” 
^‘Ah! I forgot. You are not aware, of course, that 
there, was a conspiracy to convey you to some den of* 
infamy, where you were to be made to pay dearly for 
your liberty.” 

‘‘No! good friends,” exclaimed she, in astonishment, 
“ I can hardly think it ; for what have I done to merit the 
ill-will of any one — even that which has been shown to 
me this evening, at Carlo Felici ? 

16 


182 


CKI MORA . 


‘‘Notlimg,” replied Phosphoro. ‘‘But your beauty,” — 
and he bowed very low — “may have been one great 
inducement ; your known generosity and wealth, another ; 
and even political causes paay have instigated the whole.” 

“ Your name, good friend ? And here is money for 
your companions ; and here, for you, a ring of value.” 

“ We are your humble servants, and if you wish such 
aid as poor contadini can offer, you can send to tho Piazza 
de Pescatori, and inquire for Phosphoro. Adio.” 

More overwhelmed with astonishment than Prince 
Carignano was with mortification, the dameme^ reaching 
her chamber, ordered her servants to prepare everything 
for departure early on the following morning. She then 
sat down, and wrote to the Prince, as follows : — 

“ My Dear Prince de Carignano : 

I had hoped that the affection* you have so often 
expressed for me, and which, for the last few months, 
you have spared no pains to convince me of, would at least 
have saved me from insult and danger, if not from deep 
mortification. 

The afl^irs of last evening, revealed to me in part, by a 
good citizen who called himself Phosphoro, enable me to 
* see distinctly that you never have loved, or that you no 
longer love me. 

Farewell ! To-morrow I return to Vienna, to renew 
some of the many pleasant friendships from which you 
took me. Fanny.” 

Prince Carignano, fearing being rallied by his fair 
partner, on the trick she had played him, remained from 


CRIMORA. 


183 


home- daring the whole of the following day, and conse- 
quently did not receive the note of his gentle arnica till it 
was too late to pursue her. Aggra^’uting in the extreme 
were these circumstances, and he spared no pains to find 
out the authors of the conspiracy that had caused the loss 
of the only woman whom he had perhaps ever really loved. 
The spies, however, were too astute for him, and all his 
efibrts proved unavailing. 

The hint given by Phosphoro to the danseusCj that the 
affair through which she had passed had a poUtical motive, 
dwelt continually in her mind during her long journey to 
the Austrian capital ; and as Prince Carignano was a 
leader in Sardinian politics, she came to the conclusion,, 
-much to the detriment of the prince’s honor, that the 
whole was a preconcerted affair, and had some reference 
to the Austrian government, which she could not yet com- 
prehend. Be what it might, it no less served ^to anger her 
against the Italians, and plant the seeds of bitter hate 
against her former friend and adorer. 

On arriving at Vienna, Fanny related the circumstances 
to Charlotte,- who at once saw in her a ready and 
efficient tool to accomplish at least one project which had 
become the darling of her soul — the obtaining of that 
region of country held by the Duke de Reichstadt, 
which would open a free communication with the Gulf of 
Genoa, and enable the Austrians, at any moment, to 
march their troops unmolested through the heart of an 
enemy’s country, and strike an effective blow for the 
conquest of all the north of Italy. 

The empress communicated her plans to the fascinatmg 
danseusCj and had they not involved a youth of some 


184 


CRIMORA. 


beauty^ as well as rank, might have been less acceptable 
than they really were. 

“ You will like him,” said Charlotte, ‘‘ though, to tell 
you the truth, we would be rid of him. If he partakes 
of the spirit of his father, we shall rue the day we ever 
nourished him. We can, however, tame him ; we can, 
and must, by the luxuries of our court, so enervate him 
that he will be little better than a reed, bending at our 
will.” 

And is his mind not stubborn, like his father’s ? And 
has he not, like him, too much self-control to be thus 
wielded ? ” said the danseMse. 

It is even as you question ; therefore, the greater will 
be your task, the greater the victory, and the greater the 
reward.” 

‘‘ You say that I shall ^ like him.’ If so, how can you 
calculate that I shall labor to undermine his noble 
intellect ? ” 

He is now in the blush of youth, and may interest 
you as a subject for experiment ; but has not yet that 
substantial worth which, like a person far 'beyond your 
age, you make a requisite in a permanent acquaintance ; 
while you are possessed of every qualification necessary to 
dazzle and enslave 

‘‘Your majesty is too complimentary; yet you are 
aware my highest ambition is to serve you ; and in this 
task which you have assigned me, I will endeavor to find ' 
a pleasure as well as duty,” responded the damnese. 

“ If I mistake not, my dear Fanny, you will find much 
more pleasure in it than you are willing to admit ; ” and 
the empress patted her under her sweet, round chin, as 


CRIMORA. 


185 


though she had been her own darling child,. We.have 
already,” continued Charlotte, inflamed his mind by 
stories of your beauty, and he is anxious to see you. But 
his first sight of you must be in your Spanish bolero^ on 
the stage, where you cannot fail to carry away his heart, 
as you have all the rest of Europe. To-morrow night, if 
it be your pleasure, you will appear at our theatre, where 
we will take the young duke. We will watch him 
narrowly — will talk with him of your charms, and ascer- 
tain his feelings, which, when reported to you, will be 
your guide.” 

And is it your will, kind empress, that I remain here 
and devote myself to this work ? ” asked the dansuese. 

Yes, till it is accomplished,” replied Charlotte, 
The boon of your first favor must be his Italian estates, 
which I have previously mentioned to you.” 

It is a great price, noble Empress.” 

Your native modesty, my dear child, induces you to 
say so ; but believe me, if he is the being we think him to 
be, and our words have any bearing on his youth, he will 
give double the amount — aye ! all that he possesses, even 
to the dream of his father’s epipire, to possess you. Have 
courage, my divinity, for if you will recall the past, you 
have no reason to fear the future. We learned something 
of your late affair with the Itahan prince, and how much 
our nobles prized you — what power you had exercised 
over them when you preferred a foreigner to^any of them.” 

Spare me, I pray you, generous Empress. I did not 
willingly wound them ; but having a preference for the 
warm spirit of the South, I felt at liberty to choose,” was 
Fanny’s earnest response. 

16 ^ 


186 


0 R I M 0 R A . 


You were right, and we forgive it all if you but 
make this lion’s cub what you can, and what w’e wish him 
to be — nothing ! To-morrow evening let us see some of 
your sweetest smiles directed to a fair youth in our box. 
Adieu.” 



♦ 



CKIMORA . 


187 



CHAPTER XXII. 

The mineral lands of Italy, as well as of Spain, belong 
to the Crown, independent of any individual rights vested 
therein. That portion of territory held by the Duke of 
Reichstadt — the valley along the Apennines, opening on 
the Gulf of Genoa, and threaded by the stream of the 
Besagno — contained great metallic wealth unbeknown to 
him or any of the previous proprietors ; though the duke’s 
father, who had travelled over almost every inch of the 
innumerable kingdoms he had conquered, and had perhaps 
seen indications of the valley’s treasures, doubtless thought 
it a vast deal more valuable as a strong-hold in an enemy’s 
country, than as a source of revenue. 

At a later date, had the King of Sardinia known what 
ores were imbedded in the Val de Mazzara^ he would 
have demanded a title to it as the property of the Crown : 
now the poor shepherd Bolaro occupied it with his sheep. 
The right of possession Bolara had, was, as we have seen, 
through his brother, by purchase from an Italian prince, 
who knew nothing of (or if he did, concealed his knowl- 
edge from the purchaser), the diposition there had been 
made of the land by the conqueror of Italy. The prince 
had, however, doubtless received something from the French 


188 


CRIMORA. 


emperor, which the latter considered an equivalent — title, 
power, or money. Afterwards, in giving the estate to his 
son, he thought it to be in keeping ’i^ith his usual sagacity, 
and that the act could not be condemned as having any 
political significance, though had the donation been the 
Duchy of Parma or Modena, it would not have been so im- 
portant — its position alone considered. 

After the banishment of his father, the duke was to the, 
world but as a private individual ; yet those who had 
quailed before the gigantic sire, had much fear that his 
ofispring would partake of his genius and indomitable will. 
The wily Charlotte accordingly well determined that 
nothing should be left him by which he could renew the 
successes of his hated parent. 

That a small strip of land should be of any great impor- 
tance to the Emperor of Austria, may seem questionable, 
but for much smaller pieces of territory a great nation’s 
wealth and blood have been poured out. A little spot on 
the coast of Spain — ground or rock that might be encir- 
cled by a bull’s hide — has cost England millions of 
money, and a good many lives ; though not quite so much 
pride, perhaps, as she lost in trying to keep a patch of 
territory in North America. 

Had the mineral wealth of this mountain-pass been ex- 
plored, it would have presented a new feature to all 
parties. The original owner probably would not have dis- 
posed of it. Falling to some persons, they would have 
employed miners upon it, and its riches might have served 
to replace an emperor’^ crown. If the government had 
known its quality, they would have at once taken posses- 
sion of it, and used it for their own aggrandisement. As 


CRIMORA . 


189 


it was, it was most happily turned to other purposes ; 
though poor Bolaro little dreamed, while he drove a-field 
his little harmless flocks which cropped the grass of the 
mountain sides, that a rich brother had owned it, and had 
been murdered for it ; that there was there all the wealth 
he would have asked for, had he power to obtain all he 
desired ; that it had been reserved in the family of a great 
monarch for important ends ; or that at the moment he 
was quietly enjoying its superficial treasures, a beautiful 
empress was longing for it, and causing the destruction of 
an innocent youth to obtain it. 

How little, either in joy or sorrow, do we know of the 
ground we tread on ! One may walk cautiously, and yet 
step into the very snare he most desired to avoid, while 
another, with a bold stride, may escape dangers studiously 
prepared for him. The wisest never can so forelay as to 
avoid casualties ; and if there was not some reward in a 
future state, we should often be inclined to think that we 
were not impartially dealt with. Though guileless as the 
little lambs she followed to the pastures, Saffi Bolaro had 
had the termination of her life decided on — if such a 
crime was necessary to another’s safety. Her fortune, for 
certainty, was to be wrested from her. The comfort, wel- 
fare, being, of poor Bolaro himself, who had never, for an 
instant, contemplated harm to a fellow-creature, were to 
be set at nought ; and for the possession of the very lands 
he occupied, the lives of three human beings were to be 
sacrificed. How little, either in joy or sorrow, do we 
know of the ground we tread on ! 


190 


CRIMORA. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

The shafts of mines are those wells sunk into the earth, 
through which the ore is drawn, down which the miners 
descend, and in which are placed the pumps which free 
the deep workings from water. There are some shafts, 
which are sunk only for ventilation, others, for the raising of 
ores. They are square, and vary in size according with 
their design. At intervals of a few feet, huge, square tim- 
bers, framed together in a peculiar manner practised only 
by miners, are put against the walls of the shaft to prevent 
their caving ki ; usually, however, before these are ar- 
ranged, the shaft has heavy planks put all around its walls ; 
but if the timbers are put in first, then the planks are 
driven in behind them, so that the whole finally presents a 
regular well, carefully secured on all sides. 

The labor of securing these shafts is very arduous and 
dangerous, and the mining carpenter, who has charge of 
the work, has very important duties to perform, and should 
be a man of good judgment ; for he must know the nature 
of the ground he is to work against ; how the strata lays ; 
what and where the greatest pressure will be. If this is 
neglected ; if his timbers are not heavy enough, or are not 
well dove-tailed together, the shaft may fall in, or ‘ run 
together,’ and bury thousands of workmen in the bowels of 
the earth. 


C R I M 0 K A . 


191 


The shafts in mines, however, are not all that require the 
mine-carpenter’s attention. Many of the ^ levels ’ (hori- 
zontal tunnels), are to be secured like the shafts, with 
planks and timbers. The timbers in this case, are two up- 
right posts, inclining a little towards each other at the top, 
on which, and partly let into them, is a cross-piece that 
keeps the upright ones apart and supports the planks that 
are driven in overhead to keep the earth and rocks from 
falling. In many places, where the level or tunnel is 
^ driven ’ (dug) through pretty solid rock, no timbering is 
required, though then the strata, its thickness, dip, should 
be known. 

The levels are, in all mines of great length, sometimes 
extending for miles, hundreds of feet below the surface of 
the ground, and even running out under the sea. If on a 
vein of ore, these tunnels often run directly over each 
other, like long narrow halls in houses. One end of these 
levels generally terminates in the lode, where the work of 
digging it down is still progressing, — thus extending the 
tunnel in that direction while the other end opens into the 
shaft. 

The ore, when broken down and assorted, is thrown into 
low narrow wheel-barrows and wheeled along these levels to 
the shaft in which the apparatus is for hoisting it to the 
surface. When the bucket which takes up the ore, comes 
down the shaft, a man stands at the mouth of his level and 
hauls it in, fills it, and lets it go up by the same machinery 
that lowered it down. Where there is no ore waiting at 
the mouth of one level, the iron bucket is lowered to one 
Avhere there is some, where it is hauled in and filled and 
sent up as before described. 


192 


CRIMORA. • 


The main shaft, being deeper than any of the others, is 
intended, to receive the water from all the different 
levels which descend towards it. In this is placed the 
huge iron pipes of the pump, worked by the steam-engine 
on the surface, which also hoists and lowers the buckets. 
Miners descend in the buckets to their different levels, or 
they go down the ladders fixed on the sides of the shaft — 
having platforms or landings at each tunnel. 

The work under ground, like that on the surface, is of 
various kinds. There are men who pick down the ores 
with picks and wedges — about the shape of which the 
miners are very particular. Others break up and assort 
the ores, others fill the barrows, others wheel them out and 
fill the buckets, while timbering progresses as fast as new 
tunnels require securing. 

Trembling and growing paler and paler, poor little Tzella 
w'las lowered down, down, down, till the gloom, strange, 
figures, flickering lights along the different levels, the vast 
damp depth, overcame her, and she sank into the bucket 
insensible. When reaching the bottom of the shaft, what 
was the astonishment of the miner who hauled the iron 
kibble into his level, to find it occupied by what seemed to 
be a dead child. His first impulse was to send it up 
again to the surface, but then, thinking what the circum- 
stances probably w^ere, took the little sufferer in his arms, 
and gathering some water which ran in a large stream be- 
neath the plank at his feet, threw it into her face, and soon 
revived her. Tzella gazed on her new — and she now 
thought unearthly — acquaintance, and by a human voice 
only, was saved from fearful delirium. 


CRIMOKA. 


193 


‘‘ What in heaven’s name,” said the miner, in a mild 
tone, could have sent such a butterfly as you from the 
green meadows — such a ray of light, into these chambers 
of darkness ? ” 

“ Be kind to me, good sir,* and I will work hard,” said 
little Tzella, recollecting herself, and looking pleadingly 
into the speaker’s face. 

Work! you little rose-leaf! How can you work, and 
what can you do in these damp vaults ? My little Alice, 
had she lived, would have been of your size now ; and 
what could she, poor thing, have done, had they sent her 
into the cold earth, mining ? ” 

I can work, good sir, — I will work very hard if you 
will not whip me, sir.” 

“ Whip you ! nobody, while I’m in the mines, shall 
whip you ; ” and the big tears stood in the rough miner’s 
eyes. 

Then I will love you as I would a father, if I had one, 
and I will pick ores for you — for I can soon learn.” 

“ Wy, you talk like a miner ! ” and the miner sat down 
on the edge of his barrow, and still holding her in his 
arms, looked at her with a kind of superstitious reverence ; 
beginning to imagine that the little thing was unearthly — 
perhaps the spirit of his own lost daughter. 

I am from Cornwall, good Mr. Miner, and have heard 
about little girls like me picking ores, and earning their 
living.” 

From Cornwall ! then you shall stay here with me and 
my old woman, for we, too, are froha Cornwall, and worked 
for a time in the Red Ruth mines. But circumstances of 
a peculiar nature sent us adrift in the world ; and to escape 
^ 17 


194 


CRIMORA. 


nnjust persecution, prison and death perhaps, we came 
here to spend the remainder of our lives under ground.” 

‘‘ They were cruel to you, for I know you are a good 
man ; for you speak kindly to me when you might whip 
me very hard,” said Tzolla. ^ 

It is not much of a hardship after all,” responded the 
miner, thoughtfully ; for wherever we are we soon form 
local attachments. Here we become interested in the very 
stones ; in the dropping water ; in our working compan- 
ions ; in the bats that often come to our gloomy abode ; in 
our very wheel-barrows. This is now my city. We have 
here long and narrow, and short and broad streets, and all 
are named ; and I have many friends and acquaintances 
who live and work in the different streets, to which, by and 
by, you will learn the way.” 

But oh ! do not send me away from you, good miner ; 
for I will be so good, and work very hard for you. Do 
not send me away ; ” and little Tzella threw her arms 
around the miner’s brawny neck, which his coarse woollen 
frock left uncovered, and there wept sadly ; “ for,” she 
continued, I shall be lost in these dark paths, and who 
will hunt for Tzella ? ” 

It is even as I told you, my little one ; you have al- 
ready formed an attachment for the rude, dirty miner ; 
and were you to be taken from me now, even after know- 
ing me ten minutes, you would cry.” 

I should cry, for I think you will be kind to me, and 
not whip me,” replied little Tzella. 

But come, this is •not the way we spend our time 
here,” and he put little Tzella into his wheel-barrow ; I 
will take you to where we work, and where you can begin 


CRIMOEA. 


195 


to pick ores. Your little hands will get toughened in time, 
and then you will be good for something, I don’t doubt. 
But tell me how you came here, and why you came here.” 

“1 came in a large ship,” replied Tzella, “ and I cried 
a great deal ; — at first I cried because I was all alone, 
and had no mother ; and then I cried because the good 
mate whom I loved, and who played with me and talked to 
me all the voyage, was dead, and they threw him into the 
water.” 

And was it not right ? ” asked the miner, who spoke 
in order to relieve her, — for her little heart seemed to 
have got into her throat to jchoke her. 

“ It may have been right, good sir ; but I wished all 
the time, though I did not dare to tell the captain, w^ho 
was always cross to me, that I could bring him here and 
have him put in some nice sunny place, where I could go 
every day to see his grave, and carry him flowers, and 
plant some roses over him.” 

‘‘ Who told you of such things ? ” asked the. miner, with 
an increasing interest in his new-found treasure. 

‘‘ My heart tells me always that, if I love anything, it 
must have a love for birds and flowers. My mother, they 
tell me, is dead, but I never see a pretty bird hopping and 
chirping about me, but I think my mother sent it to me.; 
and I never think of my mother’s grave, but I long to 
cover it with the sweetest and prettiest of garlands.” 

‘‘ Ah ! ” said the miner, I have no education, still I 
can see that God has made some people so good that they 
seem like Beauty ; and that beauty and goodness, like 
kind brothers and sisters, charmed with each other’s loveli- 
ness, often go hand in hand together. It may be that the 


196 


CRIMORA. 


Creator has established an invisible communion between 
them, felt only by those who are good and beautiful — 
partaken of by things, by plants, and birds,* as well as by 
human beings,” and, lost in a deep reverie, he wheeled on 
his gentle load, whom he no more heeded till arrived at the 
end of the level. 

“A pretty lout you are! ” screamed out a voice that 
belonged to a bent and ragged form that once was a 
woman’s. But 0, Woman ! once stepping from the sphere 
of mildness, gentleness, trustfulness, for which thou art so 
beautifully designed by Nature, thou dost descend to an 
equality with man, indeed — but man in an estate that no 
longer can claim love, respect, protection ! You have 
been gone an hour, and the two or three loads we have 
picked over are in our way, and backing up the water into 
our very beds,” continued the hag. 

Don’t be angry, my old woman,” said the miner, ‘‘ for 
I’ve brought you a delicate little girl, just such as our 
Alice would have been ; and I think you will like her to 
take poor Ally’s place.” 

‘‘ You are a fool 1 ” growled the woman, ‘‘ to suppose 
that any little brat could take our child’s place. If the 
little imp can work hard, and help us along with our ‘ set ’ 
in the level, she’s as welcome as any body, — but if she 
can’t she shan’t have a morsel of my hard-earned bread, 
nor a place in our room which we have dug with our own 
strong fists.” 

I can work, good woman,” said little Tzella, stepping 
out of the barrow and going and , kneeling to the dirty 
woman ; ‘‘ and I will work hard for you if you will let me 
stay here with this kind man.” 


CRIMORA. 


197 


Some bastard young one, I suppose,” said the ad- 
dressed, raising her foot to kick over the frail, trembling 
little thing, — some one sent here to be got rid of, and 
in hopes it would die — yet expecting that we should have 
pity on it. Up and to work, and let’s see if your dainty 
hands can pick the rough copper stones from the deads — 
the rubbish.” 

Tzella started to her feet and ran to the man, and 
clinging to his arm pleaded with him to show her a little at 
first what was good ore and what bad, and then she would 
always remember. 

‘‘ Do not be alarmed at the old woman,” said the miner, 

she sha’n’t hurt you — if she does. I’ll strangle her. 
I’ll show you all about the ores, and in one week you can 
do as much as she can.” 

I thank you, good miner,”, said little Tzella ; I will 
be so good, I will love you so much, and if you are sick I 
will take such good care of you.” 

“ Well, we won’t talk of tfiat now, but to our work. Be- 
gin by picking up the stones — put the candle so you can 
see well — here, stick some clay on the bottom of it, and 
then stick it against the wall ; show me each piece at first, 
and if good, put it into the barrow — if bad, chuck it back 
among the deads.” 

Tzella took a seat on a pile of rubbish, as near to the man 
and as far from the woman as she conveniently could, and 
began to work very cheerfully. After a few moments’ 
picking she recognised a great difference in the mineral that 
lay about her. The yellow sulphurates she saw were shiny, 
and that the green carbonates were handsome. The delicate 
structure of her hands enabled her instantly to understand 


198 


CRIMORA. 


by weight what stone contained ore and what not ; and the 
black and grey oxides, which were in abundance, she found 
very heavy. No pupil was ever more tractable, and, to 
the wonder of the old miner and the disappointment of the 
woman, she showed not only her willingness to work, but 
the ability to make herself of great service. 

Hours passed away ; the barrow had been several times 
filled, wheeled away and returned, when little Tzella was 
observed to handle the ores more carefully, while big tears 
trembled on her cheeks and then fell upon the unpitying 
earth. 

Tired already, are you?” said the woman. ‘‘That 
dilly dally you call work, eh? ” and she seized a sharp 
“ gad ” and threw it at the back of the child. Tzella uttered 
a faint cry, bent forward with an effort to work harder, 
but fell fainting among the stones at the feet of the 
miner. 

“ Cursed hag ! ” exclaimed the man, as he seized the 
child in his arms ; “ you brought me here by your treach- 
ery, and now you would send me to the gallows for mur- 
der, would you? This innocent has been sent here for 
some good, and if we have a mind to, can make her of 
profit and pleasure to us ; but I fear your fiendish temper 
will destroy all.” 

“ Taunt away, old man ! ” replied the w’oman. “ You’ll 
get your deserts in time, I’ve no doubt, — I don’t want to 
hurry you ; but be sure as my name ’s Mags, the little 
b ^h shall w^ork while she’s in my reach.” 

“ Harm her again if you dare, and I’ll choke you, old 
woman, if I hang by a mahagua rope on the tallest palma 
on the island ! ” said the husband, with fierce voice and ges- 


CRIMORA. 


199 


ture ; and not waiting to hear any reply, bore the little 
sufferer away to his chamber. 

The apartment in which Tzella was placed might have 
been considered a comfortable one, had it been on the sur- 
face of the ground instead of a thousand feet under it. It 
was at the juncture of three old tunnels which had been 
w’orked out and abandoned, and were now, for a few feet 
within, filled up— forming, as it were, three rooms opening 
from a common centre. The stone overhead was so solid 
that no water leaked through it ; besides, every portion 
was well timbered and boarded up, and the ground fioored. 
Millions of English subjects would be happy to have such 
apartments, if, in them, they could be free of church tithes 
and the numerous other oppressive taxes w^hich grind them 
to the dust or make exiles of them. Thus thought this 
French miner when he fitted up the different little rooms 
— one for a bed, one as an eating room, and one for pro- 
visions. 

Tzella was placed on the bed;, and her clothes removed 
from her back, which the miner bathed with aguadiente. 
The cut made by the ‘‘ gad was not deep, but to one so 
delicate it was dangerous. The smarting from the strong 
rum applied to it, brought her again to consciousness, but 
she was in such a state of fear that she hardly dared 
speak. 

Dear father,” at last said Tzella, I am sorry I make 
you so much trouble, but I will pay you for it by working 
harder when I get well ; ” and she stretched out her little 
hands towards him while the blood trickled from her 
fingers’ ends. 


200 


CRIMORA. 


Mercy ! mercy ! my child ! exclaimed the miner, 
why did you work so long ? The rough stones wore the 
skin off of your fingers, and yet you worked on and said 
nothing.’’ 

did not dare to,” said Tzella, ^^for I saw that 
woman looking at me, and I picked the ores with my 
bleeding fingers a long time before I grew faint. I 
thought she would whip me if I did not work hard ; and 
when she threw the wedge at me I could not work fast 
because the skin was all off my hands, just as you see 
them now.” 

Grood little girl,” said the man, moved with pity, 
“ you shall not work again so hard till your hands get 
used to it, which they must do by degrees. In the mean 
time I will give you some bagging which you can make 
mittens of. Rest here quietly, for a day or two, and I 
will see that you have enough to eat and drink, and are 
not more abused.” 

Tzella thanked the miner, with tears in her eyes, and 
with these words on her lips, God is good ! ” she fell 
asleep. 


CRIMORA . 


201 




CHAPTER XXIV. 

When the miner’s wife came, at night, to her room, she 
was about to proceed to the bed, and throw the sleeping 
child upon the floor ; but the strong arm of her husband 
was stretched across the passage, and she was ordered 
back. Muttering as many curses as she could command, 
she retreated to another corner, and seating herself upon 
a chest of clothes, seemed only waiting an opportunity to 
spring upon her prey. 

“ Now, old woman,” said the miner,” like it or dislike 
it, as you will, I’m going to adopt this child as my own, 
at least so long as it will remain here with us. She is 
affectionate and well-meaning, and will do much towards 
supplying the place of our lost Alice.- Your dislike of 
her and your harshness must stop now. You must pre- 
pare another and a good bed for her, and she must and 
shall be treated as our own child.” 

The old woman,” as the miner called his wife, said 
nothing, but taking a pipe from off one of the timbers, 
filled it, and began smoking. 

There is a meaning in your silence,” continued the 
husband, ‘‘ which I understand ; but beware, and treat 
well this gentle stranger, or you shall rue it.” 

The old fury shrugged her shoulders, and when she had 
finished her pipe, Avrapped an old cloak about her rags 


202 


CRIMORA. 


and the dirty frame they hardly sufficed to cover, threw 
herself upon the floor and reposed like a hardy pirate. 

Two days after this, little Tzella, not yet quite recov- 
ered, and still remaining in bed, at the request of the 
good miner, who had gone in search of the mining captain, 
to secure the end of the level where he had dug down the 
ore — was seized by the hair and dragged from the bed, 
from the chamber, and along the tunnel, till she reached 
the pile pf ore that had been broken down and awaited 
picking. She uttered no cry, for she knew whose hands 
she was in, and that obedience was her only safety. 

Now, to work, you little vagabond,” said the woman, 
as she threw her on to the stones ; and if you are 
idle another hour, while in the mines. I’ll whip you within 
an inch of your life.” 

Tzella sprang to her work, and working and trembling, 
listened to the cruel words of a fiend who called herself a 
woman. 

I’ve seen your tricks,” continued she, to get rid of 
your tasks ; and you expect that we shall feed you and do 
your work, too. Now hark ye. Miss Snipe’s-spawn : If 
you ever utter to my old man a word about my treatment 
of you. I’ll break every bone in your body, and it wouldn’t 
take much to do that ; and if you shirk your share of the 
pickings I’ll cut your ears off in pieces,” and she gave her 
a harsh slap on the back, as a foretaste of the gentleness 
she was to expect if she disobeyed. 

Mother, dear mother,” prayed Tzella to herself, will 
you not look on your little child, and protect her? ” and 
a voice whispered in her heart, ^‘Suffer patiently, for God 
is good.” She then turned to the woman, and lifting up 


203 




CRIMORA. 

her naked arms, bleeding from the gashes just received 
from the sharp stones on which she had been so inhumanly 
thrown, pleaded with her to strike her no more. Oh, 
dear woman,” she said, do not strike me, I beg, and I 
ivill work for you every moment of my life, and I will not 
tell anything against you.” 

‘‘You had better not, if you know what’s good for 
yourself,” said the woman, who, at the same time, 
stretched out her boney fingers and pinched the little 
innocent’s alabaster neck till it turned black ; wliile the 
uncomplaining sufferer poured out burning tears over her 
loneliness and misery. 

When the good miner w'as present the wife remained 
silent, as he generally talked with the little Stella Bianca. 
His attachment to the child, too, grew stronger, day by 
day, and she became, as far as possible, his constant com- 
panion — filled with joy at his coming and sorrow at his 
going. He was not aware, how^ever, of all the cause of 
these emotions ; had he been, he would doubtless have 
put his former threat in force, and strangled the miserable 
wretch whom he owned as wufe. Had he done so, would 
he have been guilty of murder ? Perhaps he w^ould, if so 
good an act could be called a capital offence. 

Tzella’s fondness increased with the miner’s kindness, 
and as she had no acquaintances on the surface of the 
ground — as it took a long time to ascend, — as the diffi- 
culty of reaching the top of the shaft w^as very great — 
she soon became weaned from any other world than the 
one she lived in ; and in almost unquestionable content- 
ment remained for months and years in her strange abode. 
To be sure, she was not wffiolly free from suffering ; but 


204 


C R I M 0 R A . 


the kind words and guardianship of her adopted father 
more than overbalanced the effect of the cruel treatment 
she sustained at the hands of the proletarian, brutal wife. 

It must be understood that Tzella’s love of her protec- 
tor was even greater than she would have naturally enter- 
tained for a legitimate father ; for he had appeared to her 
as a good angel, when waking she expected to find herself 
amid fierce demons. He had voluntarily extended to her 
his sympathy when all the rest of the world had cast her off ; 
for she was of that age which almost momentarily appeals, 
as by instinct, to a mother ; an age when the mind, capa- 
ble of a vigorous expansion, requires a mother’s patience 
and intelligent regard to supply its multifarious demands ; 
an age when a mother’s ear is so essential to happiness — 
an ear that welcomes every tale, stories of wondrous fabric, 
images of infinite omniformities, the recital of ages of grief 
crowded into a laughing tear, and the voice of the young 
heart’s wrongs it impulsively utters. We have seen how 
her adopted father received her, listened to her, cared for 
her, protected her, and we can readily see why he became 
dear to her. 

In the inception of this acquaintance, there were several 
causes why the miner should be attached to little Tzella. 
He had lost an only child, who, had she lived, would have 
been nearly of the age and size of the little stranger. Then 
he had no companion in his solitude except his wife, who 
was anything but attractive. Acquaintances he might 
have fonned above ground, and with sonie good people from 
his own land, but he had a reason for keeping himself from 
their sight, and his real name unknown. Toward Tzella, 
however, he found it impossible to use any dissimulation. 


CEIMOKA . 


205 


She was the personification of innocence, and he felt it would 
be a great relief to him if he could unburden his heart even 
to her childish mind. But where could he begin so as to 
end safely ? He did not know the exact crimef with which 
he was charged, but he knew that his companions had suf- 
fered death as the penalty of the law. He had been drawn 
into the meshes of a secret society through the influence of 
his wife, and he had no doubt that each member, except 
himself, had, individually, been guilty of heinous crimes ; 
so that, his name being registered with theirs, there was 
no safety for him but in flight — no safety, even if inno- 
cent ; for his wife held over him the rod of her knowledge 
of his pledge to this band of assassins, whose Chief, and 
inspiration, was her own particular friend. He delayed 
his confessions, for he feared he could not make the young 
creature, who had so providentially been sent to him to 
change the character of his dark existence, comprehend 
the cause of his flight from his native shores ; and if he 
should fail in his eftbrt, he would alienate her from him — 
would stamp on her heart a belief that he w^as a criminal. 

The dress with which Tzella descended into the mines 
was soon worn out, and replaced by a frock made of bag- 
ging — an article much used in transporting mineral to 
the harbor. The delicacy of her hands was also partially 
saved by the same stuff, while thick, heavy shoes, were 
occasionally given to her to protect her feet from the sharp 
stones. On her head she wore a piece of bagging several 
times folded, and left to fall over the shoulders, for the 
double purpose of protecting her hair from the dirt, and 
sheltering her from the 'svater, which dripped down in 
many places from the roof. In this costume, with face, 
18 


206 


CRIMORA. 


hands, and arms soiled by the black ores, and the smoke 
of candles always burning in all the levels, it is not to be 
supposed that she was very attractive. But she had no 
motive for desiring a more gay or fashionable toilette^ and 
never thought of a life in which dress could constitute a 
charm. If, however, she had had a mirror, or if there 
had been some glassy water in which she could have seen 
herself, perhaps, like Narcissus, she would have pined 
into a more delicate flower, if possible, than she really was. 

Tzella became the calender of her adopted father. 
She remembered the days, weeks, months, years, every 
event that occurred in the mines ; — the number of loads 
wheeled out, and the number of feet dug each twenty-four 
hours. But the more she was prized by the husband, 
the more she was hated by the wife, who allowed no day 
to pass, when the good man was absent, in which she did 
not give the unoffending girl the most cruel evidence of 
her dislike. Sometimes she Avould unmercifully beat her ; 
then she would strike her with the sharp edge of a gad or 
wedge, and sometimes seize her by the hair, and drag her 
from her seat, under pretence of washing to occupy it 
herself. 

One day, the good miner fell ill, and could not go out 
into his tunnel to work. Then the old woman had a glori- 
ous opportunity to gratify her fiendish temper. 

Where is Tzella ? ’’ asked the husband, when the 
wife came home to dinner. 

She is at work ; for she says she does not want any 
such dinner as we give her.’’ 

‘^Tell that to my wheel-barrow,” said the husband, ‘‘but 
not to me. Be sure you take her some victuals when you 


CRIMOBA. 


207 


go back, and tell her I sent it. Why, in God’s name, do 
you wish harm to the child ? Has she not now been three 
years in these caverns without once seeing the light of 
day ? ” 

“ Neither have we ; and is the minx any better than 
we are ? ” replied the woman. 

Has she not,” continued the husband, as though 
uninterrupted, been an unbounded source of profit and 
pleasure to us ? ” 

“ She may have been a pleasure to you, you old scor- 
pion,” said the hag, with biting emphasis ; but to me 
she is nothing but a viper.” 

And has she not been gentle and uncomplaining ? If 
she partakes of the nature of a viper, she must have im- 
bibed it all from you, old woman ! ” retorted the husband, 
who could, with the greatest satisfaction, have thrown her 
from the surface into the deepest shaft in the mine. 

“ Be cautious, old fool, or I’ll peach, and have your 
neck strung yet,” replied the woman. 

‘‘ Out with you ! ” exclaimed the sick man, as he 
reached to get a shovel to throw at her. 

The woman suddenly disappeared ; and when tea-time 
came, ^he again returned alone. 

“ Wretch ! ” gasped the man, springing from his bed as 
the woman entered, where is my child ? ” and a cold 
sweat stood upon his forehead, for he was convinced that 
Tzella no longer lived. 

Go and look for her, if you want her,” calmly mut-^ 
tered the wife. 

The good miner, not stopping for a light, rushed out of 
Iiis house, and hurried along the dark gallery. Occasionally 




CRI]^'OIl'A^ 


li'e paused to listen ; but heard nothing till near the eh# 
of the workings, when a faint groan came to his ear, and 
lie faltered, feeling as though he could move his feet no 
further, though his eager will went on, and his hands were 
stretched out to succor the distressed. He was, however, 
nerved anew, when he heard the same and well-known 
voice, saying, Father, father, come, dear father, come 
take me away, dear father ; ” and with another bound he 
stood beside the child, and bent down to raise her — but 
bie grasped only the stones. Where is my child ? ” 
groaned he, in wild despair. 

“ Here,’’ answered the same voice, as if smothered 
beneath his feet. 

Again the distracted man gi’oped about with his hands. 
He encountered a barrow, which he removed, and, as the 
^ voice now seemed to come from directly under where it 
was placed, he dug fiercely into the loose stones, and in a 
sfecond had the joy of feeling the warm body of his child 
just beneath the surface. Dragging her from the rubbish, 
aiid without uttering a word, he retraced with frightful 
haste his uncertain way. In ordinary times he would have 
reached his home without a mis-step, but now he struck 
first on one side and then on the other, and finally his head 
a fearful blow against a cross-timber, which felled him to 
the ground ; but he did not lose his consciousness, and 
grasping the child closer to his bosom, with one hand saved 
her from even touching the earth, while his other hand, 
‘extended to break his fall, was sprained and badly cut. An 
instant more sufficed for his recovery, and on he rushed 
again with his fair burden, which seemed to grow heavier 


CRIMORA. 


209 


as if dying ; and when he entered his chamber he was paler 
than the young creature he had just rescued. 

Ah ! ’’ exclaimed the old woman, with a start, the 
earth fell on her from overhead, and as she was dead I left 
her there,” — and her lips were pale, and her guilty con- 
science shook her like a leaf. 

The miner heard her, but made no reply ; and laying 
the child on the bed, began with careful hands to wash her 
bleeding face, give her some aqua vitce to restore her, and 
encourage her by kind and affectionate words. He found 
a bad cut on the temple, evidently made by a gad^ which 
had probably stunned her, and caused the old woman to 
bury her for dead. 

The child was not dangerously injured, and in a little 
while spoke to 'her adopted father with the same sweet 
cheerful tone that had so often gladdened his dreary life ; 
and, as soon as he felt sure that she was safe, he turned to 
the woman, who had been the chersihed partner of his sin- 
less youth, and cursed her from the bottom of his soul. 

Curse on ! ” cried the hag, while her long sinewy 
fingers were closing as if she knew she had him by the 
throat ; ‘‘ How could I hinder the earth from falling on 
her ? It was all I could do to escape myself.” 

“ Did the barrow fall, too, from the roof? For I found 
it on top of the very stones you had piled over her.” 

You lie ! ” screamed the now infuriated tigress, and 
she sprang at him and grasped him by the hair, and strove 
to clutch out his eyes. 

The miner’s brawny arm soon relieved him. He then 
grappled the woman with intent to strangle her, but there 
18 ^ 


210 


ClilM OKA. 


proceeded from the bed a faint cry for mercy. ‘‘ Hear* 
that?” said the man; ^Hhe one you would have killed 
now saves you. I will not kill you, because she asks for 
mercy ; but I wull put you beyond further harm.” He 
then took from a beam a long strip of mahagua bark and 
fastened her hands behind her, and thrusting her into one 
of the closed tunnels, built up a wall so high that she could 
but just peer over its top. 

“ Now, dear child,” said the miner to Tzella, tell me 
the reason of her beating you, and burying you up.” 

Dear father, I dare not tell you, for she has threaten- 
ed many times to kill me if I spoke a word to you about her 
abuse of me.” 

Fear nothing now,” replied the miner, “ for I swear 
she shall never leave that place alive,” pointing to the hole 
where she was walled in. 

‘‘ Oh, then,” sobbed the child, I have a million blows 
to tell you of, a million kicks and pinches, and starvation 
always when you were not here to give me food.” 

Oh, poor, poor child ! ” said the miner, and his broad 
shoulders rose with his heaving breast. 

It was only because I pleaded for some bread to-day, 
that she beat me, and at last struck me with one of the 
sharp wedges here on my head. I did not know anything 
more till I woke lip and found I could not move ; but, as 
my head was on the ground, I heard your step a great way 
off, and I knew it was you, good father, and then I called 
as loud as I could for you to come ; and when I felt your 
kind hands on me I thought a good angel had brought to 
me the sweet spirit of my own dead mother ; and I was as 
happy as if my heart had gone up to heaven.” 


CRIMORA, 


211 


You are a good girl, and heaven will always protect 
you,’’ said the miner, as he went away to prepare some 
nourishment for his failing child, and wipe away the tears 
which he thought revealed too much weakness. 




212 


CRIMORA. 


CHAPTER XXy. 

A PERSON who has never tried an isolated, a Robinson- 
Crusoe-life, can have no conception of the peculiar happi- * 
ness — the strange but tranquil joy pertaining to it. The 
life which Tzella and the good miner led was one of envia- 
ble content. If you say their happiness was negative, we 
should not deny it, but it was, nevertheless, happiness. 
The man had entirely weaned himself from the world — 
had become attached to his home ; while his companion, by 
her innocence and affection, filled every void in his heart. 
Tzella, knowing nothing of pride, envy, jealousy, nor even 
of love — save that which was bounded by her protector — 
went cheerfully to her daily labor, and as cheerfully return- 
ed and prepared the meals, and retired to her little cell at 
night ; and all without one vain thought to disturb her calm 
and peaceful slumbers. 

At the end of each month the miner received an account 
of the amount credited to him on the books of the company, 
and the charges made for provisions and clothing sent 
down to him ; at which time the inspector went through all 
the workings, and saw that everything was properly at- 
tended to. This, however, was a useless ceremony ; for 
the mining captains never neglected such duties — duties 
that devolved upon one or the other of them every moment, 
night and day. 




m 


For nearly four years Tzella suffered ail but d^th from 
the brutal treatment received at the hands of the wife of 
her adopted father. She grew thinner and weaker till her 
slender frame seemed hardly capable of longer retaining 
the fair spirit that had animated it ; but during the two sub- 
sequent years she grew tall, regained her gaiety of manner, 
and elasticity of form ; and, could she have been seen well 
dressed, would have been pronounced the very loveliest of 
her sex. 

One day, along mai^y of the levels, it was observed that 
small pieces of dirt and stone occasionally fell from over- 
head. Tzella’s quick eye discovered it where she was at 
work, and in remarking on the subject, found that it had 
not escaped the old miner’s notice, and that he regarded it 
with much alarm. What was to be done ? The old man 
passed along the tunnel several times to examine the tim- 
bering and ascertain if it was firm and secure, for he saw 
in the falling bits of earth a serious indication that there 
wns to be a run ” in the mine, which might in an instant 
bury hundreds of human beings at an inextricable depth. 
The same signs were continuous, too, in all the levels over 
the one we have mentioned, and the most cautious of the 
miners had fled to the surface. Through the night the 
warning ceased not, and when the heavy bell sounded for 
the relief gang of the morning, the mountain began to 
tremble, and the deepest thunder went muttering through 
the bowels of the earth. Then followed a fearful crash, ^nd 
as the sound went rolling away as if along the vast arches 
of the world’s structure, it seemed to bear on its bosom the 
last groans of a million of mangled, dying mortals. Oh ! 
^hat a fearful moment for those on the surface who had 


214 


CKIMOR A. 


friends below, and for those below who’ knew not if they 
had time to escape ! From every part of the vast ‘‘ work- 
ings ’’ the miners rushed to the main shaft, and a thousand 
were at one time ascending the ladders to reach the sur- 
face and escape death ; but, owing to the great depth from 
which many commenced their ascent, it was a long and 
fearful hour before all could make their egress, and during 
that time a continuous stream of pale and trembling miners 
issued from the mouth of the great well. No one spoke, 
but each looked into his neighbor’s face for an answer to 
the fearful work that was being done beneath their feet. 
“ Who is dead — who has escaped ? ” was the expressive 
question ‘which silence asked of the multitude. 

Let us now descend again to the bowels of the earth, to 
see what havoc has accrued. In the levels running 
parallel with Tzella and her friend’s set,” twenty negroes 
and their overseers, and six Cornish miners, having been 
closed in by the earth, perished. When the accident oc- 
curred, Tzella and the good miner were seated at the 
breakfast table ; and even before they could rise, the level 
in which lay their work, was filled, and they were cut oif 
from all communication with the main shaft. The roof 
over their heads, which they had always deemed an im- 
moveable rock, began at the same time to give way, and 
that side of it where the woman was confined sunk in one 
mass upon her and crushed her to atoms. The husband 
did not escape ; a portion of the earth overtook him as he 
started to leap to the other side of the vault, which was still 
firm, and he fell on his face — his feet held fast by heavy 
stones. Tzella, pushed forward by the falling man into 
that old level we have mentioned as closed up behind to 


CRIMORA. 


215 


form a bed-room, stood safe and alone, unharmed, but 
stricken down with horror and dismay. She could no 
longer move nor utter a cry. She thought her hour of 
death had come, and she stood staring the king of terrors 
in the face, awaiting his blow. 

Moments passed away — they might have been hours — 
the world seemed pausing for breath, and the bowels of the 
earth, which had been by insatiate man so ravaged, so 
pierced for filthy lucre, had rebelled and become^ firm and 
solid again, and sent to their long sleep those who had dis- 
turbed her quiet. Tzella regained strength and courage, 
and her first impulse was to rush to her preserver, and ex- 
tricate him from his perilous position. But what could she 
do ? Tons in w'eight were resting upon his feet. Her 
only resort was, to help — but from whence ? Not an 
avenue was open, and death by starvation and suffocation 
seemed inevitable. But Tzella, in the fulness of her heart, 
thought not of herself, and stooping down, she raised the 
head of her good friend, and tried to comfort him. 

Dear father,” said she, what can I do to relieve you 
from the horrid pains you are now enduring ? I cannot 
displace those huge rocks, and every avenue is closed.” 

‘^Dear child,” replied the miner, think not of nle, but 
try and remove the stones that block the passage to the old 
levels, and escape yourself.” 

“ Never while you live will I leave you, dear father ! ” 
exclaimed Tzella. 

I shall soon die, and so must you, if you do not soon 
procure fresh air by opening one of the old passages ; and 
should I live, of what use can I be without feet ? ” 


216 


CRIMORA . 


“ You must live, dear, good sir, and I will be feet for 
you always.’’ 

Even now I am faint,” continued the miner, my 
pains and want of air will soon finish me. Think of me as 
a kind, good friend to you, when I am gone. Should you 
find means to escape — and I think God will save you — 
take the papers you will find in the chest, at the head of 
my bed, and they will serve to remind you of me.” 

“ Dear friend, have courage. Relief may come — try 
and live — I will get you food and water,” and she ran 
and got him some water to keep him from fainting. 

Food and water will soon be gone, dear child ; and if 
we had enough, no air could reach us for the levels are 
closed.” 

“ God is good, dear, good friend ! ” replied Tzella, in 
deep humilitjT- and faith, as she placed food and water 
within reach of her sinking, suffering protector. But what 
availed her tender care ? The good man could not eat, 
and,- from excruciating pain, often fainted away. Then 
the girl, fearing he was dead, went almost stark mad, for 
there came upon her the full sense of her loneliness and 
destitution. Bereft of all that had been to her, her world 
of thought and feeling, her soul turned back upon itself, 
and was lost in a wild, dark sea of despair. 

Hours passed away ; not a voice was heard, not the sound 
of a pick, nor clink of a gad. Stillness was the sole com- 
panion of these lonely, wretched beings. Night, as known 
by hours — for all was in reality night — came and passed ; 
another day, more slowly waned away — and another 
night, still more slowly and more agonizingly ; for hope was 
gone, and the air so far exliausted that respiration was 


CRIMORA. 


217 


painful! The good man now made his last effort to live, and 
sank down on his face, and gave his thoughts to his God, 
while Tzella placed herself beside him, and spoke to him 
kindly and gently of heaven^ — of their meeting there her 
dear good mother and father, who would love him for the 
kind care he had taken of their child. When she ceased 
talking, all was still again as death. 

They come ! they come!” screamed Tzella, “they 
come to save us I ” and the clink of a hammer was heard 
ringing through one of the closed galleries. The good man 
heard her voice, but he had resigned himself to his Maker, 
and his thoughts were no longer of earth. Tzella tottered 
to the wall which had been built up at the end of the bed- 
room, and hearing distinctly voices, and men at work on 
the heavy stones of that old gallery which had for years 
been abandoned, and which led to a distant shaft used only 
for ventilation ; she again, in a frantic wildness, screamed. 
They come 1 they come 1 ” then fell upon the floor, in 
reality, almost dead. 

One who has groped for the buried living, knows some- 
thing of the thrill that pervades the soul when he greets 
the first sign that those live whom he seeks. Tzella’s voice 
had reached the ears of the generous-hearted miners, who 
now redoubled their efibrts, and, with almost superhuman 
energy, tore down the thick walls, and opened a passage 
for the air, and for themselves, into the chamber of the 
dying. 

“ A girl ! a girl 1 ” exclaimed the first one who entered, 
and still warm 1 She has pulse, too 1 Take her to the air 1 
send her up as quick as possible, and she will yet live ! ” 
A man 1 exclaimed another, but dead I Let us, 
19 


218 


CRIMORA. 


however, take oflf the stones from his feet, and carry him 
up ; perhaps we can restore him ! ” 

They raised the good miner, after great labor in remov- 
ing the rubbish which held . him fast, and finding that he 
still breathed, bore him at once to the shaft, and sent him 
up by a large kibble lowered for the purpose. The miners 
then returned, and finding all the rest of the workings 
entirely choked up, abandoned further search.^ 

“ Sorry job, that ! ” said one of the men. ‘‘ Thousands 
of pounds sterling can’t open these levels again ! ” 

“ Who cares for the money ? The company is rich 
enough to lose ten times as much. I’m thinking of our 
poor comrades in yonder levels, who hadn’t time to get 
out, and are now there, where they’ll remain till dooms- 
day, crushed to atoms. Poor souls ! Thank God our 
^ set ’ was nearer the surface, and that we took warning by 
the little stones that kept cracking off all the whole day.” 

I say. Jack,” said one of the men, I wouldn’t like 
to open that level where all the niggers are smothered.” 

Perhaps not,” responded the man Jack ; but if you 
were a nigger — and I don't know that you are any better 
— I reckon you’d like to be dug out alive as well as any 
body.” 

True, true ; and to tell you truth, I’d rather be a 
nigger than an Irishman.” 

Yes ; because you know the niggers in America are 
treated better than the Irish or any other poor people in 
the mother country. But haul in the bucket, it’s time for 
us to go up now ; ” and the bucket was hauled in — for 
they had reached the shaft — and in a few moments they 
were on the surface. 


CRIMORA. 


219 


Hurrah ! ” shouted fifty voices, as the men emerged 
from the old well, into which they had* some hours before 
descended on their perilous enterprise, urged on by a noble 
and generous spirit, that crowding virtue — humanity ; 
and many a hardy fellow, with tears in his eyes, came 
and shook hands with them, and blessed them. They 
were fully repaid for their deed of charity, and doubly so, 
when they saw, (as the crowd separated), sitting unsup- 
ported, the fair and lovely girl they had rescued, and the 
man still alive, though dreadfully mangled, awaiting with 
fortitude and resignation the surgeon to amputate his feet. 

As the women came to take Tzella to the house to Avash 
and clothe her in a suitable manner, the multitude dis- 
persed, murmuring, and wondering at the strange beauty 
Avhich had so long been among them unknown. But 
Tzella’s charms had but half been revealed to them ; for 
she had not yet opened upon them her large blue eyes ; 
for the bright light of day to w^hich for years they had not 
been exposed, caused them excessive pain w^henever she 
attempted their use. Immediately the surgeon arrived, 
and as Tzella heard the order to remove her friend to the 
hospital, she started up, and begged to be allowed to follow 
him, and attend him there. The earnestness of her man- 
ner obtained an assent to her Avishes, and in a feA\^ moments 
she was seated at the head of the patient’s bed — in her 
turn comforting and encouraging him, while he was sub- 
mitting to the most painful of operations. 

After a fcAv Aveeks, by Tzella’s watchful care, the old 
miner Avas able to sit'up, and she Avho had noA\t- become his 
guardian angel, his most assiduous, untiring servant, aston- 
ished, by her extreme grace and beauty, all who saAV her. 


220 


CRIMORA. 


The fame of her loveliness, as well as devotion to him 
who was thought to be her father, spread far and wide ^ so 
much so, that soon the first object inquired for by strangers 
visiting las minas del cohre^ was the Stella Bianca of the 


mmes. 


grimora; 


221 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Stella Bianca — ^ the White Star ! For years shut up 
from the heat and light of the sun, Tzella’s skin, in its pur- 
ity and whiteness, reminded one of a japonica leaf, while 
the moist atmosphere of the mines had rendered it so deli- 
cately soft, it could be compared to nothing but itself. 
Her hair was long, dark, and glossy ; her eyes, deep 
blue, but when animated by the emotions of her heart, 
seemed brilliantly black ; had it not been so, she, in her 
appellation, might have escaped the aflSxture of Stella^ to 
that of hianca^ which was now so truthfully applicable. 
Her features were of Persian mould. Her form, as yet 
too slender to be attractive, was luxury undeveloped; — it 
could not escape the casual observer even, that, by a little 
rounding and filling out, she would be a model for a 
Venus. 

The labor which Tzella performed in the mines gave 
her strength of muscle few women possess, while the same 
moist atmosphere which had rendered so like velvet her 
delicate skin, fostered a suppleness and elasticity of limb 
that caused her movements to be ever winningly graceful. 
She was, in fact, much more like an Armenian than an Eng- 
lish girl ; and one could not imagine, if without the charm of 
dress, and education she was so attractive, to what extent 
these, when they rendered their aid in all that can fasci- 
19 * 


222 


CRIMORA. 


nate, would imbue with the intoxicating odor of love every 
mind that contemplated her, or with what myriads of en- 
thusiastic admirers she would surround herself. 

By her gentleness, Tzella won the affectionate regards of 
all the ladies — and they were many — who visited the 
mines ; so that in a short time she became the pet of St. 
Jago ; and few parties were given there to which she was 
not invited. It was at the festa of the patron saint of the 
town that she first made her appearance in public. 

On such gala days all the people seem to be on •an 
equality, and everything that tends to fraternise and make 
• the masses happy, is submitted to, and joined in, with the 
utmost good humor. All business is suspended, and mer- 
riment is the order of the day. Men, women, and children, 
masked, stroll about the streets, which blaze with huge 
pine torches stuck in the ground. Many a bella donna 
flourishes in her best ball-room costume, while some, 
dressed in gay and grotesque garments, ride in dilapidat- 
ed vehicles, sing comic songs, and jest with the multitude. 
Parties seeming still more happy go about with bands of 
music, and entering each and every house they choose, 
present themselves to the ladies for a waltz, and of course, 
are accepted. After one or two rounds they move on, and 
appear to be welcome at every door. Each hour, the 
joviality of all classes appears on the increase, and at the 
close of the last day of the festival, a brilliant madness evi- 
dently pervades the entire community. 

If anything had been planned* to charm Tzella with the 
world, it could hardly have been more successful than were 
these scenes, and the Spanish music and dancing which 
she now enjoyed for the first time. In the waltz, there 


CRIM OR A . 


223 


was that slow, line-of-beaufcy, wavy, ^ half-voluptuous, 
half-languid movement, which found a response at once 
in her own native sense of what constituted real grace. 
In the music there were harmony and mellowness which 
suited well her susceptible and gentle nature, and some- 
what melancholy temperament. 

Doii Juan de Sagarras, an accomplished and benevolent 
Cubano, received the beautiful Tzella into his saloons, with 
that distinguished courtesy which made her feel at once as 
if at home, and among true friends. If she was, at first, 
too timid to be interesting, she was far from being unat- 
tractive. With the greatest interest she watched the 
dancers, and in an hour, each figure they executed was 
distinctly impressed on her mind. Till that time she was a 
mere spectator ; but then a young man came, and more by 
look and manner than by words, urged her to be his part- 
ner. She could not refuse — she assented, and in a mo- 
ment, within an arm yielding gently to her sylph-like form, 
to the astonishment of all she was swaying through the 
waltz with a native grace no culture could have heightened, 
no art improved. 

With Lady Sagarras and her lovely children, Tzella be- 
came the greatest favorite possible, and nothing would con- 
tent them short of her becoming an inmate of their dwell- 
ing. To this proposition Tzella at once raised, as she 
supposed, an insuperable barrier. “ My good father,’^ 
said she, “ is still at the hospital of the mines, and I shall 
never abandon him. He has more than once saved me 
from death, and while he lives I shall be to him as a faith- 
ful daughter.’’ 

‘‘You speak,” said Lady Sagarras, “as though you 
were not his child.” 


224 


CRIMORA. 


“ I am not,’’ replied Tzella, “ and do not know who my 
parents were. The woman who took care of me in Eng- 
land said they were dead ; yet I often recall some remarks 
of hers about a lady who paid her money for me ; and her 
saying once, when she seemed forgetful that she was talk- 
ing, ‘ Your mother tells me, if I do not teach you to pray, 
she will take you away.’ ” Here the poor girl was lost in 
thought. 

“ And this may account for something we see in you 
which charms us,” replied Lady Sagarras, with much 
earnestness. 

I thank you, dear lady, and I love you much, but 
cannot leave my adopted father.” 

‘‘ Well, good girl, that shall not separate us. Your 
friend shall have a room here, — I have a plenty of ser- 
vants to attend him, — and you will be a companion 
of, and a pupil with, my children, who, you know, are all 
very fond of you.” 

They hardly know me yet,” said Tzella, much affected 
by the woman’s kindifess. 

‘‘ They have heard of you often, and have wished much 
to see you ; and, as you far surpass their expectations, 
they plead earnestly for your remaining with them.” 

I will assent to your wishes, dear Lady Sagarras,” 
replied Tzella, “ only on the condition that when we become 
burdensome to you, you shall let me know, — and, while 
we stay, receive from me fifty reales^ weekly, for my father’s 
board.” 

‘‘ This last proposition is indeed a painful one — one I 
could not willingly accept. But how have you money to 
pay with ? ” 


CRIMORA. 


225 


For eight years the good man has worked in the 
mines, and he now finds credited to him on the company’s 
books, a large sum, which he gives me charge of, and which 
I must use for him : when that amouflrt fails, I shall find 
means myself to support him.” 

I at first thought you were a beautiful foreign girl, but 
I now think you an angel,” replied Lady Sagarras, and 
be assured my children shall not lose your influence, while 
they will be indebted to you for teaching them French, 
which, I understand, the good miner has taught you — he 
being a Frenchman.” 

Don Juan de Sagarras, who had acted till now only as 
interpreter, rose and took the girl’s trembling hand, kissed 
it, and bade her be assured that he heartily joined his wife 
and children in their wishes for her to remain. He then 
retired. 

The following day found Tzella and her adopted father 
installed in St. Jago, and never were beings happier. 
Tzella learned the Spanish rapidly, the girls French but 
slowly ; yet their tutor failed not in her efforts and devo- 
tion. If she sometimes considered it a task, she was fully 
repaid when her companions taught her some new dance. 
In this she Avas a more apt scholar than in anything else, 
and rivalled the best in the town. 

Days, months, a whole year, passed away ; the good 
miner’s money was being exhausted ; jealousy had sprung 
up in the family, and Tzella resolved on a new course of 
life. El Signor Sagarras and his good lady loved her as 
their own child, and Avould have been as loth to part Avith 
her as any other in the family, had not the daughters in- 
duced them to believe that it was detrimental to their 


226 • 


C R I M 0 K A . 


interests to retain her. They stated that not a gentleman 
in the whole town, who visited them, paid them the slight- 
est attention while Tzella was present ; that, by her 
artfulness, she tunied the heads and captivated the 
hearts of all who approached her ; and, though the saloons 
were thronged from morning till night, Tzella was the sole 
attraction. 

We cannot but suppose that the admiration bestowed on 
Tzella much gratified her, yet her sensitive nature could 
not brook the occasional slights she was subject to and, 
when she discovered the cause, fixed her determination to 
return to Europe, and try some way to support herself and 
helpless friend. 

When it was rumored abroad that the Stella Bianca was 
about to leave the country, thousands of rich and beautiful 
presents were sent to her — some accompanied by bou- 
quets, expressive of hope and love, some of despair. All 
this afforded her a momentary happiness ; but nothing, save 
the gratitude of the old miner, appeared to touch her h art. 
Professions and compliments she had learned to under- 
stand, and as they looked superficial, they glided away 
from her memory, leaving there no sunny rays. She had 
but commenced her fifteenth year, yet there was in her 
soul — even if not by her comprehended — a sublime con- 
ception of Love, of Truth, of Beauty, of God. We will 
not say from whence this came, yet w’e believe she inherit- 
ed it, or it grew out of her habit of contemplating the Al- 
mighty, His w'onderful works. His goodness. When she 
came in contact with any one whose physiognomy bore not 
the impress of high, refined and generous sentiments with- 
in, she involuntarily shrank from him, and turning her 


CRIMORA. 


227 


eyes heavenward, seemed to say : — There only am I un-, 
derstood — there only can my affections repose. 

“ A Dios, amigos, a Dios, bono Santo lago,^^ said 
Tzella, one beautiful morning, as, with tears in her eyes, 
she stood on the deck of a vessel, and waved with her 
handkerchief an adieu to her many friends on the shore — 
to the land where she had won knowledge, strength of 
body and mind, that were to be jewels to her in after 
years. 




.228 


CRIMOR A. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Charles Wellington, with his mother, plotted and 
planned and planned and plotted, day after day and night 
after night. Mrs. Wellington had become a monomaniac 
on the subject of ruining Smithers. It was her study — 
and no hour passed, when she was awake, that found not 
her thoughts associated with revenge and her seducer. 

Mrs. Wellington was once a girl of ardent temperament, 
of strong affections, of great exuberance of spirits, and the 
life of the country village where she was bom. Her 
parents — her father a clergyman — strictly Orthodox, 
devoted most of their time to curbing her in her innocent 
sports. They shut up to her the ball room, all parties, 
games, public amusements, till life became a burden, and 
she resolved on self-destruction. The resolution once 
taken, she only awaited the hour w^hen her parents slept, 
to seek the bridge from which she was to precipitate 
herself into a watery grave. Midnight found her prepared 
to take the fatal leap ; but at that moment a gentleman, 
springing from a coach that was whirling on towards 
London, stayed her in her desperate design. What was 
now to be done ? The stranger could not delay his jour- 
ney, nor could he find it in his heart to abandon the girl 
to her own guidance. He determined to take her with 


CRIMORA. 


229 


him to the next station, where he could place her in safe 
hands ; and encountering little or no opposition, bore the 
trembling, frightened creature to the vehicle he had just 
left, and was soon en route. 

During the six or eight miles which intervened from the 
bridge to the village where the coach was to stop, the 
unhappy Margaret so far recovered as to be able to 
explain all the causes which led her to desire death ; and 
when, at last, the driver drew rein, and hurried to the 
coach door in expectation of finding a raving maniac 
needing medical aid, he was only laughed at, and informed 
that his passengers w^ere very good friends, and ■ that the 
rescuer of the female had decided to be her future guard- 
ian, and make a dweller in his own family. 

To the youthful creature, so suddenly torn from the 
cold grasp of death, and brought within the warm influ- 
ences of an apparently sincere friendship, the world looked 
bright indeed ; and having changed her name, so that her 
parents could not discover her, resolved, as she entered 
London, to lead such a life of gaiety and dissipation even, 
that she should never again be driven to contemplate such 
a fearful act as that from which she had so recently, so 
miraculously been saved. 

The family that received the vivacious country girl was 
one of fashion, and its rounds of pleasure intoxicated her — 
she, by the wish of the master, being allowed to participate 
in the full measure of its dissipation. Within a week she 
was deeply in love with a gay Lothario, in the son of her 
benefactor. Her young and priceless affections were 
trifled with, made the sport of an hour, and then cast 
away as though but a soiled glove. Overwhelmed with 
20 


230 


CRIMOR A. 


disappointmentj she fled from her new-found home, and was 
almost on the point of abandoning herself to the generosity 
of an inhospitable and unfeeling public ; but her better 
spirit triumphing, she sought and obtained a situation as a 
domestic. After living in different parts of the town, she 
finally entered into the service of the family of that man, 
by whose villainy we have seen confiding innocence turned 
to murky misanthropy — a life of trust and love, to one of 
hatred and revenge. 

Fair Margaret having followed in the footsteps of her 
illustrious mother Eve — having eaten of the forbidden 
fruit, though the fairest in the garden of her Paradise — be- 
gan here her sorrowful descent ; “ but let him that is without 
sin cast the first stone at her.’’ Unequivocal attention 
had been tendered to her, and such oaths of devotion and- 
constancy as the unsophisticated never doubt; — Heaven 
look kindly on the simplicity and guilelessness of their 
hearts ! — and when it was too late, she saw the flaming 
sword waving at the entrance to the happy land from 
which she had gone out. 

‘‘ Charles, my son,” said Mrs. Wellington, ‘‘ you have 
now been at home long enough ; besides, our money is 
nearly all spent. Go at once up to London and see 
Smithers ; tell him who you are, demand a place in his 
counting-room, and means by which I Can live handsomely. 
Take no evasive reply from him. Tell him you know all, 
and that his only course of safety is to do as I say. The 
demand I make is not so unreasonable that he will seek 
my life, for it will not require much of a sacrifice ;• other 
wise I should not dare to press it.” 


CRIMORA, 


231 


‘^Your life, mother! How dare he think of such a 
thing, while I’m alive ? ” and Charles looked as though 
he had seen forty years. Have you not told me his hfe 
was at your mercy ? ” 

My son, for that very reason he must not he pressed : 
he must not dream that I ever think of the power I have 
to control him.” 

We’ll work him sly then, mother. That’s your 
game, is it ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, my son, for he’s cunning as a fox ; and if he 
scents the track, will round the hill.” 

Aye, and cross his own track a dozen times to cheat 
us hounds upon the scent.” 

Game, my son, game. He’s our game. Now go and 
outwit the fox.” 

Charles took, in his way, an affectionate farewell of his 
mother, and started for London. The little villain’s brain 
teemed with schemes for the future. His heart did not 
seem to cry for blood, but for remuneration for misfortune. 
He had an idea that, had he been born rich, he should 
have been a charitable gentleman, but since he was poor, 
he was determined to make the rich what their good for- 
tunes should have made them. 

On arriving at the end of his journey, he immediately 
proceeded to Smithers’s place of business, and with his 
usual swagger, his hat on one side, and his hands in his 
coat tail pockets — for he had donned a coat — he walked 
into that respectable gentleman’s counting-room. 

How are you, friend Smithers ? ” said Charles, taking 
off his hat, and- carrying up a chair towards where Mr. 
Smithers was sitting at his desk. 


232 


CRIMORA. 


Mr. Smithers, intruded on in that insolent manner by a 
rude-looking boy, seized a bell to ring for the servant to> 
turn him out. 

‘‘My name is Wellington,’’ said Charles, quickly, in 
order to stay Mr. Smithers in his intentions. The an- 
nouncement had the desired effect. Mr. Smithers dropped 
the bell, and putting his hand to his forehead, stood 
aghast. 

“ Be seated,” said Charles, settling himself down^ 
“ and I’ll tell my errand in short, double-quick time.” 

“ Do so,” said Smithers, seating himself with evident 
trepidation. 

“ You must take m.e into your counting-room and make 
a merchant of me,” continued Charles. 

“ You ? ” exclaimed Smithers. 

“ Yes, me,” replied Charles, in the same tone ; “ and 
what is more, must send to my mother immediately as 
much money as she wants.” 

Smithers grew pale with rage, and could with difficulty 
restrain himself from throttling the boy at once ; but 
recollecting — what he had long ceased to think of — that 
Mrs. Wellington knew more of his affairs than was prudent 
to provoke her to expose, 'he, with an assumed mildness,, 
and with a desire to gain time to know how to extricate 
himself, said : “ You are a very worthy young man, I per- 
ceive, and doubt not would make an excellent clerk, but 
at this moment have no vacancy — no business in which I 
could employ you.” 

“ Well, well, Mr. Smithers, then I’ll find business for 
you,” replied the young brigand, leaning back in his chair, 
as if ruminating on an important affair. 


CRIMOEA. 


233 


my good young friend, you must allow me time so 
as to arrange a suitable situation for you,’’ replied Smith- 
ers, with increasing suavity, at the same time wishing he 
could arrange one to suit himself, which would be near a 
gallows with the “ young friend ” swinging on it. 

Ah! Smithers, Smithers 1 The boy was worthy of 
thee, and thou shouldst not have thought so unkindly of 
him. He had not a bad heart, nor a cramped intellect, 
and hadst thou given to him the means of a -virtuous 
education, he might have done honor to the king. 

How much time do you ask ? ” continued the boy. 

To-morrow, at this time,” said Smithers, glad to get 
a moment for thought. 

^‘Well, old covey,” said Charles, ‘Uo-morrow, at this 
time. I’ll be on my taps. So, good day,” and he swag- 
gered out in the manner he had entered. 

Smithers breathed again when he saw the young scamp 
close the door ; and if ever a brain was put to the rack, it 
was his at that time, in order to discover some means of 
ridding himself of this living incubus, which was to sit at 
his board by day and his pillow by night — a thorn to 
recall his treacheries in the past and keep him in fear of 
the future. 

Night passed, and the mor^^ing found Smithers ill for 
want of sleep and the inability to decide on any course 
that could lead to a restoration of his independence. 
Thoughtful he went to his counting-room, where a fortu- 
nate incident came to his relief. Messrs. Came & Telo, 
worthy and distinguished merchants, about to send a vessel 
round the world, on a trading voyage, applied to him for 
a shipment. The application was no sooner made than 
20 ^ 


234 


CRIMOR A. 


assented to, for there was a chance to rid himself of his 
child — at least for a year or two, and perhaps for ever if 
the hdtard should be so careless as to fall overboard. 

‘‘ I will make such a shipment as you desire, on one 
condition,” said Smithers, which is, that you take the 
son of a friend of mine as a supercargo’s clerk ; that is, 
nominally as such, though when at sea to be done with as 
the captain pleases. Do you understand ? ” 

‘‘We understand perfectly, and will give our captain 
instructions accordingly,” replied the merchant. 

Smithers w'as relieved, but awaited, with some anxiety, 
the appearance of the boy. The appointed hour brought 
him. 

“ Well, Mr. Smithers,” said Charles, “ I s’pose you’ve 
decided ; ” and Charles took a seat without invitation or 
comment. 

“ I have decided on a most noble place for you,” re- 
plied Smithers, assuming a joyful look, and rubbing his 
hands. “ You have' come in the most opportune time 
possible ; and if you were not here I do not know what I 
could do.” 

“ Well, well, what is it ? ” said the boy, impatiently. 

“ Good news, as well as bad nevfs,” replied Smithers, 
“ should be communicated gradually ; and I know this 
will delight you, as it opens a way to eminence and wealth, 
as well as affords you the advantage of seeing the world.” 

“ But my mother’s money — when is she to have that ?” 
asked Charles, abruptly. 

“ Immediately,” responded Smithers. “All is to be 
arranged. I should have sent what she needed, but she 
discontinued writing to me, and so I supposed she had 
found better friends.” 


CRIMORA. 


235 


You canH come it, old covey. ^Twont do ! Mother’s 
told me a different story ; so no more gammon for me.” 

‘‘Well, well, my good young friend. I was going to 
tell ♦^you that I have shipped, to-day, on board bark 
Wellington — named for your good mother — a large quan- 
tity of merchandize, which you are to take charge of and 
dispose of in Canton to the best advantage, and bring 
returns in silks or teas, as you deem most favorable to 
our mutual interest ; ” and Smithers eyed the boy closely 
and anxiously to see the effect of his speech, — and if he 
was seen through ; but it took well. 

“ You’ve done me justice, and damn me if I see how 
mother could have ever said you wan’t a perfect trump,” 
replied the youth, swelling so inconceivably with a good 
opinion of himself, that Smithers nearly laughed outright. 

“You are pleased, and so am I,” said Smithers. 
“ Now I will tell you of a plan for your mother. I will 
at once procure a fine house, furnish it, and send for her 
to come and enjoy it here till your return.” 

“ Better and better ! ” shouted Charles. 

“ The barque will sail to-morrow afternoon, and in the 
meantime procure yourself the necessary clothing ; here’s 
ten pounds for you ; and to-morrow morning I will show 
you the house I’ve procured for your mother.” ^ 


236 


CRIMORA. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Charles Wellington, satisfied with his new impor- 
tance, proceeded to prepare himself for his voyage. Smith- 
ers, in the mean time, sought out a house to be let, and ap- 
pointed an agent, with proper instructions, to remain there 
and receive the boy whom he would send with his card. 
The agent was to inform Master Wellington that the house 
had been rented for a noble lady, a Mrs. Wellington, and 
that he, as an agent for Mr. Smithers, had been authorized 
to supply her with all tha money she needed. 

Charles Wellington alighted at the door of the mansion 
to which Mr. Smithers had directed him, and walked 
slowly and dignifiedly up the steps, as though he had been 
sole proprietor of the entire street. At the door the 
agent welcomed him, showed to him the house, and ex- 
plained the nature of the innumerable orders Mr. Smithers 
had given concerning the reception of Mrs. Wellington, 
,who, he said, was now hourly expected. 

Everything worked as Mr. Smithers had designed. 
Charles Wellington was perfectly at ease, and in the after- 
noon went on board the ship, which, on the following morn- 
ing, loosed her cables and swung off for sea. Smithers 
stood on the dock, and bade the boy farewell ; and if ever 
a heart beat with joy it was Smithers’s, when the private 
signal of the barque disappeared down the Thames. 


CRIMORA. 


23T 


Once out at sea, tjie youth, who had swelled into the 
pomp and authoritative manner of a great man, found him- 
self but a boy ; and soon nothing but a cabin-boy. The 
cunning which had sufficed him in stealing the power he 
had exercised over Smithers, were unavailable properties 
in the bark Wellington ; and when the captain ordered him 
into the service of the cabin, though he stoutly rebelled, he 
was soon brought to an understanding by being knocked 
from all sorts of standing into the lee scuppers. Had this 
been all, he would have had an easy time ; but his stub- 
born spirit occasionally showing itself, found a recompense 
in his being ordered to furl the royals, or slush down the 
masts. 

‘‘ Lay aloft there, you young lubber,’’ said the captain 
to the boy, and with a rope’s-end gave him an impetus he 
did not soon lose. It was a fearful thing to climb the rig- 
ging when the ship, rolling in the storm, was nearly dip- 
ping her yard-arms in the water ; but aloft the boy had to 
go. 

There is no danger, say seamen, of fresh hands falling 
overboard, they cling so firmly to the rigging ; and in the 
case of young Wellington, no one feared for the results of 
his — sky-larking. 

When the boy reached the main-top, which he did by 
climbing through the lubber-hole, he concluded to go up no 
further ; but when he saw the rope’s-end following him, in • 
the hands of the second mate, he concluded to go. Aloft, 
aloft he climbed, and still aloft he had to go. Fear seemed 
to concentrate his thoughts ; and a-s often as he saw the 
fluttering sail above him, he nerved himself afresh. When 
he reached the royal yard, so high was he from the deck, 


238 


CRIMORA . 


that each roll of the ship swayed hiRi through the air at a 
fegirful velocity — it would seem a hundred feet from side 
to side. The sail w^as furled, and he descended safely ; — 
but the work was one he had daily to peril his life in 
doing. 

Months passed away, and new tasks and hardships were 
imposed upon the youth. He was turned forward among 
the sailors — a good-hearted and noble set of fellows, — 
and he was kept during his watch on deck, unremmittingly 
at work. He dared not complain, for the rope’s-end, he 
knew by experience, was a sorry response ; but he had no 
idea that his sufferings were the^design of Smithers, but 
arose from the rascality of the captain. He also believed 
that he should have redress when he named the affair to his 
father. 

One hundred and fifty days were passed at sea, when an 
excellent pilot of the Hoogly came on board and navigated 
the vessel through one of the dangerous mouths of the 
Ganges, up to the beautiful city of Calcutta. Charles 
Wellington 'was now delighted, and began to prepare him- 
self to go on shore ; but he was immediately set to work 
breaking out cargo, and during the four months’ stay at 
the quay, was never allowed to step his foot upon the land. 
When he once ventured to ask what was to be done with 
the goods shipped by Mr. Smithers, he was told that a 
more intelligent person had taken charge of them. He 
then grew angry, and, informing the ship’s crew that he 
was Mr. Smithers’s son, became their laughing stock and 
butt, which made his sojourn among them more than ever 
uncomfortable. 


CRIMORA. 


239 


When the barque had been reloaded, she sailed for the 
islands of Sumatra and Java, and thence to Canton. On 
arriving at Batavia, the boy had been so harshly treated he 
resolved to submit no longer, and running away from the 
vessel, wandered into the interior. He was not sought 
after, for he had only done what the captain desired he 
should ; so his anxiety and speed only served to involve 
himself, and make his chance of returning more and more 
problematical. 

After three days’ travel southward, Charles reached a 
native village, consisting of about an hundred houses, 
made of bamboo. Af he approached the place, he 
was surrounded by naked boys, who set up a hideous 
shouting and screaming, which brought out a sort of police, 
who took him at once into custody. Carried before a 
judge, his sentence was pronounced after some consulta- 
tion. He was then chained to a villainous-looking native, 
and a large earthen jar, (such as his companion had on 
his head,) given to him, and he was soon made to under- 
stand that he was to bring, for the good inhabitants, water 
from a distant stream. 

Master Wellington would now have gladly returned to 
the ship, but it was too late. A' hopeless state of bondage 
was before him, and death became a pleasing thought. 
Once he escaped, and was recaptured and cruelly pun- 
ished. Several years passed, and he had grown manly and 
strong, and one day trying his muscles upon his chains, 
snapped them and set himself at liberty. Fortune favored 
him. He reached the port, and going on board a vessel, 
found he was a most welcome visitant — several of the 
ordinary crew having died, and left the captain in distress 
for hands. 


240 


CEIMOEA . 


The Italian brig in which the young Englishman was 
now installed, was loaded with spices, and bound to Genoa. 
If it had been going to England, his heart would have more 
rejoiced ; but still, free from slavery, and on his way home, 
he had little cause to be otherwise than grateful. He did 
feel grateful. His early misfortunes, the sutferings and 
privations he had long endured, his present escape, — 
each made a deep and powerful impression upon him. 
His heart seemed changed, and he exclaimed, when 
once more at sea — ‘‘ God is good ! ” 

* Subdued, yet energetic, young Wellington received the 
approbation of all on board, andgwas in reality a favorite. 
After a long and boisterous voyage they anchored within 
the mole of Genoa, from which position the beautiful city is 
seen to rise a perfect picture of enchantment. Here Wel- 
lington was obliged to remain for a while, as he could find 
no vessel bound to England ; and as he had acquired much 
of the Italian tongue by a five months’ intercourse with 
his shipmates, he was capable of making himself useful in 
many ways, and thus obtain the means of living as his new 
character suggested. His first effort was a good and suc- 
cessful one. He visited the foreign vessels in port and of- 
fered to supply them with provisions at a very small profit 
— a proposition many captains gladly accepted, as he was 
sure to secure better bargains for them than they could 
for themselves. 

In the pursuit of his new calling, Charles Wellington 
met with an incident which had an important bearing on 
his future career. One day, in the market, he saw a 
young girl who had on sale two lambs, which she had 
brought in from the country. Wanting one of them to 


CRIMORA. 


241 


supply his customers, he at once accosted her, bargained 
for the fattest one, and paid the money ; but as the girl 
received it, she burst into tears, and as she buried her face 
in her apron, the coin, so paltry to. her, compared with her 
feelings, fell to the earth, and she no longer seemed to 
care for anything. 

Bella Signorita ! said Wellington, ‘‘ why in heaven’s 
name do you shed tears — have I not given you enough for 
the lamb ? ” 

Oh yes ! ” sobbed the girl, but it was my pet lamb, 
and I did not know how much I loved it till it was lost to 
me.” 

But why do you sell it,” asked the youth, “ if you 
prize it so much ? ” 

Because, good sir, we are poor, and father told me to 
sell it,” replied she. 

And who is your father ?” asked Wellington. 

Antonio Bolaro, at your service.” 

Bolaro ! Bolaro ! ”• exclaimed the young man ; it is 
a name I remember well — where does he live ? ” 

In the Val de Mazzara,” -was the reply. 

’Tis the same — it must be ! And who knows but I 
may be the means of making them happy ! ” and he looked 
earnestly at the girl, who had now uncovered her face to 
see the person who seemed interested in her father. 
‘‘ You are beautiful,” continued he, and I will serve you 
— at least a little nowP Here he hesitated a moment, for 
the thought came to him that the girl might be married, as 
he knew they married very young in Italy ; and then, that 
the one she spoke of might not be the person his mother 
had mentioned to him. Exchange lambs with me,” con- 
21 


242 


CRIMORA. 


tlnued Wellington, and here is money for both of them. 
Take the pet home, and keep him till I com(^ It’s not far, 
is it ? ” 

No, kind sir,” said the Signorita, it is not far. If 
you start when the sun comes over the cliff of Chiaveri, 
you will get there by mid-day. Take the road along the 
Basagno.” She then kissed the hand of the young man 
and bade him adio ; and as she turned away, the lamb-^skip- 
ped at her side, and her tears again fell fast — but now for 
very joy. 

Young Wellington at once commenced a new train of 
thoughts, awakening new desires and new resolutions. 
For the first time in all his life he felt his heart heaving to 
a gentle sentiment. The girl he had just seen could have 
led him, as she did her pet lamb, with a gala ribbon. His 
voice and manner were now gentle, the future had a pecu- 
liar brightness in it, and he fixed the day when he was 
again to see the fair creature who had given him a new in- 
spiration. 

The following Sabbath found the young man following 
up the stream of the Besagno, and long before mid-day he 
reached a little cottage in the valley of the Apennines. 
Before he arrived, however, who should come down the 
path to meet him but the young girl and the lamb. They 
seemed overjoyed ; and as the former bowed down to kiss 
his hand, the latter put his little feet up on the stranger 
and waited to be caressed. Young Wellington was very 
happy, and resolved to give his life to the rescuing of this 
good family from poverty. 

As the trio approached the humble dwelling, the good 
shepherd came from his doof to welcome the young man 


CRIMORA. 


243 


who had shown so much kind feeling towards a poor conn- 
try girl. 

You are^elcome,” said Bolaro, as he extended his 
hand, “ and for your sake, kind sir, I wish I had a better 
dwelling ; I wish I had the means of showing that hos- 
pitality my heart prompts me to.’’ 

‘‘ Make no apologies,” said Wellington, for I’m hut a 
poor sailor ; and if I hare done anything to please you, it 
probably grew out of the hardships I have myself endured. 
Tell me if you ever had a brother.” 

Yes, good sir ; I had a brother, who was in the wars 
in Spain, and afterwards went — ” 

Where?” 

‘‘ To England, I believe,” said Bolaro, ‘‘ though I for 
years thought he was dead.” 

“ I knew it was he ! ” exclaimed Wellington. ‘‘ And 
he died there ? ” 

Died ? ” said Bolaro, and the tears started to his eyes. 

‘‘ Did he not die ? ” asked Wellington. 

‘‘ For years I have not heard from him,” said Bolaro ; 
‘‘ but I never dreamed that he was dead, after I heard he 
had not died in Spain. You speak as though you had 
known him, — tell me of him.” t 

‘‘ I never saw him,” replied Wellington, thoughtfully, 
for he began to consider it best not to awaken hopes he 
might not be able to fulfil, but heard my mother mention 
such a name when I was a boy of ten. I think she said he 
died, and left a brother in Italy.” 

“ And where does your mother live ? ” asked Bolaro, 
with much anxiety. 

In England ; and as I go there immediately, I will in- 
quire about your brother, and let you know.” 


244 


CRIMORA. 


‘‘ You are indeed most kind and good,” said Bolaro, 
with unsuppressed gratitude. 

I will even promise to return, and brin^^ie news my- 
self, if you can make me one promise,” and he looked up 
to the young girl, who was watching him with an interest 
that surpassed curiosity. 

‘‘ I will make any good promise,” said the shepherd, 
“ that I am able to keep.” 

I am a rough man, I know,” said the youth, and 
have been a bad one, but now I will strive to do better, and 
will return to you with good news, if you will pledge me 
your w’ord that this lovely girl shall not give her hand 
to any one within one year.” 

“ You do us an honor, dear sir, by bestowing a thought 
on a poor shepherd’s child ; and surely we can have no 
reason for not giving you the promise — can we SaflGi ? 
Can we, Stella ?” and he turned first to his daughter, and 
then to his wife, who had just then entered, bearing on her 
head a huge bundle of sticks she had beeircollecting in the 
mountains. 

Safii had turned away and hid her face in her hands, 
and made no reply. The mother had to be told the story, 
when sh^ at once gave her consent. 

Wellington then rose, shook hands with the good shep- 
herd and wife, and as Saffi still stood with her back towards 
him, he passed out of the door without bidding her adieu. 
How strange it is, that those whom wo love most are often- 
times the ones whom we most fear to approach ! that those 
names most sacred to our ears are the ones we most fear 
to hear spoken ; and that, like the wild bird, who, fearing 
to be followed to his nest, takes a circuitous route, we often 
alk wide of the subject which most interests us ! 


CRIMORA. • 


245 


Saffi’s heart had become too much involved with the 
young man to let him go without taking one more look at 
him ; so she slowly followed him to the door, accompanied 
by her little lamb. Wellington, however, had not lingered 
as she supposed he would, and, with tearful eyes, she saw 
him hurry down the path and disappear — perhaps never 
to return again. 


21 


246 


. CK J^iORA. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

After the departure of her boy Charles, Mrs. Welling- 
ton, sure' of the success of his mission, sat down quietly by 
her dingy window ,’^"and tried to knit]; but so often found 
herself nervously letting down stitches, as she contemplated 
her final triumph over Smithers, that she laid her work 
aside to luxuriate, in perspective, in the Tvealth that must 
necessarily, as she thought, soon come to her. But Mrs. 
Wellington had n^t calculated on the cunning of others. 
She had calculated on the means she had of weaving a 
web to suit herself, but not on the power that might be 
brought into action against her, induced by the very ma- 
chinery at work in her own fabric. 

Day after day passed, and no news arrived of her son. 
Grief, mortification, her worst passions, and even want, had 
long been at work to undermine her constitution, and she 
was now really unable to support herself — to find in her 
own system that energy necessary to procure, by labor, the 
ordinary comforts of life. When her son had left her 
alone, and she sat down, as we have said, to contemplate 
her coming happiness, it was at a moment when nature 
was exhausted, and when, if ever, she needed the support 
her child might give, and the consolations of love and 
friendship to which she had so long been a stranger. 


CRIMORA, 


247 


A week passed, and no tidings came of her boy ; and 
Mrs. Wellington resolved to go herself to London. For 
two days she had been without food — not being able to go 
out for it — and how she was able to reach the metropolis, ^ 
without money and in her feeble state of health, she did 
not know. Necessity, however, impelled her forward. 
She tied, up a few clothes in a handkerchief, took the bun- 
dle under her arm, and, with shoes scarcely good enough 
to keep her unstockinged feet from the ground, com- 
menced her journey. Weaker than she had even imag-^ 
ined herself to be, she reeled along the streets of Falmouth. 
The boys, thinking her intoxicated, jeered at her, which 
sent the big tears down her haggard cheeks, and recalled 
the time when, ten years or so previous, she passed 
through the same village, bearing one little one at least, 
who, had she done justice by it, w^ould now, doubtless, 
have been the mainstay of her happiness. 

During the first day, she dragged herself along for about 
ten miles, and reached one of those poor hovels the land- 
lords give their tenants. She was there, at first, repulsed ; 
but, by explaining the nature of her misery, obtained shel- 
ter, though no food could be spared by the famishing in- 
mates. Another day came, and still more exhausted she 
proceeded on her journey. Several carriages with armo- 
rial emblems passed her, and their occupants who conde- 
scended to cast their eyes upon the wanderer, doubtless 
regarded her as a being of a different structure from them- 
selves, or as one who chose and loved misery for its very 
comfort. By and by, a poor Scotch traveller overtook her, 
and noticing her famished appearance, kindly accosted 
her. Old woman,’’ said he, ‘^you appear weary; — 


248 


CRIMORA. 


wouldn’t you like a wee draught of some good Scotch 
whiskey ? ” 

“ You are a kind gentleman,” replied Margaret, and 
* the only one who has thought I needed either food or 
drink, and I am perishing for lack of them.” 

“ Oh ! you need not perish for that, for here’s a wallet 
full at your service. You ’ve seen .better days, I think ; 
and now I look at you, see that you are not the old woman 
I took you to be.” 

^ ^‘Bitter disappointments in youth, blighted hopes, a 
crushed spirit, ill hedth, bring on more age than do 
years,” replied Margaret. I am yet young, my hair is 
yet rich and glossy, yet I go now to the grave.” 

‘‘ No, no, — don’t be disheartened — cheer up ! Come 
sit here by the way-side and rest a bit; and when you’ve 
taken a little more of the good stuff whiqh has saved many 
a weary traveller from an untimely end, we ’ll jog on to- 
gether to the next village, where I ’ll get you a conveyance 
to — where is it you go ? ” 

“ To the grave, though I did start for London, merciful 
stranger, to see one who has been the cause of all my 
misery.” 

“ I should think you ’d like to see as little as possible of 
such an one,” said the Scotchman. 

“ He pledged me the wealth of his heart and his cof- 
fers,” responded Margaret ; but in the former there 
was nothing, and the latter, had I claimed it, would have 
cost me my life. After I was utterly ruined, I learned to 
know the man I had to deal with. I bode my time, to 
consummate my revenge ; my son is now working for me.” 

And who is this villain ? ” 


CRIMORA. 


249 


‘‘John Knox Calvin Smithers,’’ replied Margaret. 

“ What ! the man who has such a name for piety, and 
goodness, and wealth, feven in Glasgow, my own native 
city ? ” 

“ Even that episcopal puritan.’^ 

“ I will see him myself,” said the traveller, “ as soon as 
I reach London. Be assured he shall do you justice. Let 
us now go on, for I see the village yonder, and you can 
find there a h^d and the repose you need ; ” and he took 
Margaret’s bundle, and then placed one hand under her 
arm, to aid her on her way. 

When within a short distance of the contemplated place 
of rest, Margaret sank to the earth, overcome by fatigue 
and sorrow. The good traveller then took her in his arms, 
astonished at the delicacy of her frame, and carried her to 
the nearest dwelling, which, happening to be the parson- 
age, was at once opened to receive her. What an excite- 
ment this created ! All of the family gathered about him 
to hear his story. He related to them what he had learned 
from the sufferer’s own lips, and it deeply interested them, 
and each one was anxious to do something for her. A 
good bed was prepared, her hat removed, her hair combed 
nicely back, her forehead and hands bathed in vinegar, 
and a good broth prepared, to nourish and invigorate her. 

The Scotchman now seeing his companion in good hands, 
proceeded on his way, not, however, till he had offered 
what little money he possessed to defray any expenses 
there might be, in aiding the poor houseless woman. 

“We will give you our blessing,” said the good pastor, 
“ but we cannot take your money, for doing simply our 
duty. We even think this a privilege, for it is an event 


250 


CRIMORA. 


that seldom occurs, and, when it does, our hearts are in it. 
Perhaps, in this there is even selfishness, — for, some 
twelve years ago, when we lived in the north, we lost a 
daughter, and think, perhaps, she is wandering like this 
poor woman, houseless, friendless, dying. But, farewell, 
and God bless you.’’ 

Why does he stop talking? ” asked the dying Marga- 
ret, seeming for a moment to revive, but not able to open 
her eyes. Tell him to go on, for it brings all my young 
days back to me. I heard that voice when a child ; I 
remember that it made me often happy, but where — Oh ! 
my brain ! — I forget. Tell him to come near me and 
bless me, for I go away now ^ to return no more forever.’ ” 

The old man, hearing her last words, drew near, and 
laying his hand upon her head, blessed her in the name of 
the blessed Redeemer. 

There was something in the touch of the venerable pas- 
tor that electrified the heart of the poor wanderer. Her 
eyes were opened. She sprang up in bed, and throwing 
her arms wildly about the old man’s neck, poured out her 
life’s breath in saying — my father ! my father ! ” 

The father, weeping over his long lost child, refused to 
be comforted, because she was now no more. Her mother 
had already gone to join the blessed in heaven, and await- 
ed her there. Young and lovely sisters, who only remem- 
bered her as a lamb gone astray,” a‘nd for whom they had 
been taught to pray, morning and night — to pray that, in 
heaven’s mercy, she might return to her home again, and 
be a dear and loved sister to them — these gentle girls, 
now feeling that a part of their prayei's had been answered, 
kneeled beside the bed, and taking the cold hands of the 
once lovely Margaret, bathed them with unavailing tears. 


CRIMORA . 


251 


He had seen his first and dearest child ; she had come 
home and received his blessing, and died with his name 
upon her lips ; yet the old man was smitten to the very 
dust. He did not know where she had been, what had 
been her course of life, nor how much she had suffered, 
nor if voluntarily. That she had suffered intensely, was 
evident from her poor appearance, her emaciated form ; 
while at the parsonage, there had always been a vacant 
chair for her at table, and of food, enough and to spare. 

Margaret was laid in the villlage church-yard, beside 
her mother. 


d 


252 


CRIMORA. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Smithers was sitting in His counting-room, very con- 
tented, as he had got rid of the boy, and for a week had 
heard nothing about the mother, when the Scotch traveller 
entered. 

Mr. Smithers, I believe ? ” 

“ At your service,’^ rephed Smithers, with a searching 
look. 

‘‘ I am a poor man, Mr. Smithers, but I have seen 
much of the world — its good and bad physiognomy ; and 
I know there is a vast amount of villainy in it that goes 
for a time unpunished.” 

Well,” said Mr. Smithers, beginning to imagine the 
drift of the speech, which, as truth, went home to his 
bosom. 

“ I yesterday overtook a poor young woman, dying by 
the wayside. Her story was one of seduction and aban- 
donment ; the result, crying misery and want; you, sir, 
the cause.” 

Me ! Do you intend insult to me, sir ? ” exclaimed 
Smithers, angrily, and rising from his chair. 

Yes, if truth can insult so shameless a man,” said the 
Scotchman, coolly. 

‘^Your impudence shall be punished,” said Smithers, 
frothing at the mouth. 


CKIMOKA. 


253 


Be calm, sir, and hear me out, or you yourself may 
receive the punishment,” replied the traveller. The 
•woman’s name is Margaret Wellington — perhaps you , 
have heard of her — and she knows some of your secrets.” 

Curse her ! ” said Smithers, gnashing his teeth, 
clenching his fists, and dropping into his chair as though 
shot. 

You know her, then ? ” 

A mad woman of that name once crossed my path, I 
remember ; and she has now again probably escaped the 
mad-house. Where did you see her ? ” asked Smithers, 
much moved. 

On her way from Falmouth, sir,” responded the 
Scotchman; ^^and to-morrow, if she lives — though that 
is very doubtful, for she seemed almost gone when I left 
her — will probably be here to claim that aid from you 
she so justly merits.” 

Smithers for a while remained silent, for he ^ was con- 
templating the best manner of escaping the position into 
which he was being drawn. He at last said, — * 

Well, the poor woman doubtless needs assistance, and 
as I am rich I can afibrd to aid her, and will do so.” 

You promise me to aid her as much as her destitute 
situation deserves,” said the Scotchman. 

I pledge you my honor,” replied Smithers, who did 
not intend to . fulfil a particle of his promise, made only 
as a ruse to get rid of his meddling visitor. 

You are not, then*, quite the man I judged you to be, 
from what the poor woman told me. I take your pledge, 
and may God bless you,” and he gave Smithers a warm 
22 


254 


CRIMORA . 


shake of the hand, and turned his steps towards his native 
hills. 

Smithers had made np his mind, if Margaret arrived in 
London, to represent her as an insane woman, and have 
her put into the hospital ; but this act of villainy was not 
permitted him to enjoy. Days and weeks passed away, 
and nothing was heard of her ; this, taken in connection 
with the story of her feeble health, told by the Scotchman, 
convinced him that she had gone to her long account, and 
he again settled down into the quiet life he had previously 
enjoyed. 

Four years after the preceding events, when, one Sab- 
bath morning, Mr. Smithers was preparing for church, 
the servant announced that a young mail demanded to 
see him. 

What message does he bring ? ’’ said Smithers. 

^‘‘He would give me none, sir,’’ said the servant. 

Tell him, then, I am not in.” 

I did, sir, and he said he would remain, then, till you 
came.” 

I will go, then, myself,” said Smithers, and kick 
him out.” 

What was Mr. Smither’s astonishment, on reaching the 
hall, to find there Mr. Charles Wellington, a tall, good 
looking, hardy young man, whom he had set down as dead 
as a doughnut. 

‘‘ Good heavens ! ” exclaimed Smithers, ‘‘ from what 
sea did you swim on shore ? ” 

“ Sea weed goes where the current drifts it,” replied 
Charles, extending his hand to Mr. Smithers, and I am 
glad the current of fortune set this way.” 


CRIMOEA. 


255 ^ 

Mr. Smithers could not say Amen! ’’ to that, for he 
■wished him where sea weed grows ; yet having always- 
found that an amiable manner, which conciliated and gave 
him time to plan, was the best, he assumed it, and said, — 

‘‘ I am most happy to see you again, for I feared you 
were dead ; the captain, on his return, informing me that 
you had deserted his vessel in Java and gone among the 
natives. But walk this way, and let us be seated,’^ and 
he passed to the drawing-room, rang the bell, and ordered 
the servant to tell Mrs. Smithers he should not attend her 
that morning to church. 

“ I did, sir, desert the vessel, but it was owing to the 
harsh treatment I received from the captain, which I knew 
you would not approve of.’^ 

‘‘ Of course not,’’ responded Smithers. 

But before I tell you of my adventures, tell me of my 
mother. What has she said to my long absence ? ” 

‘‘My dear young man,” said Smithers, lengthening his 
face, and looking melancholy, “ of her I have but a sad, 
and mournful tale to relate.” 

“ What 1 She cannot be dead,” exclaimed the boy, as 
a suspicion of foul play, mingled with grief, nearly suf- 
focated him. 

“ Even so,” answered Smithers ; and the boy bent his 
head down between his knees, and sobbed aloud. “ You 
remember,” continued he, “ that I sent for her to come 
and reside in the new house 1 had prepared and richly 
furnished for her. She started, was taken sick, and died 
at the second village from Falmouth.” 

“ Oh 1 could she have only lived till I returned home, 
the blow would not have been so heavy ; but now I wish I 


256 


CKIMOR A. 


had never returned/^ groaned Wellington, raising his 
head, and lifting his eyes to heaven. 

It was, indeed, a sad thing for all of us,’’ said 
Smithers ; ‘‘ but though bowed by the deepest grief, we 
rise again. You will soon recover from this, and be able 
to seek your own living, and by perseverance may obtain 
wealth and respectability.’^ 

‘^By your words I should judge that you considered 
our relationship at an end,” said Wellington, startled from 
his grief by the remarks of Smithers. 

Your long absence obliged me to make arrangements 
suited to my business, and now I have no place for you.” 

Will my mother’s wishes avail nothing ? ” asked the 

boy. 

Your mother is dead, and cannot now peach,^’ said 
Smithers, with some irony. 

Charles Wellington had not lost, by his years of bitter 
experience, any of his early knowledge of men, nor his 
tact at taking advantage of circumstances ; and remem- 
bering that he had an important mission to fulfil — to fulfil 
for his own sake, to avenge his mother, and to make Saffi 
happy — he racked his brain to invent the best method of 
accomplishing it. At last he said,: — 

“ Dear Mr. Smithers, my ignorance of business is so 
great, I know I should not be of much service in a com- 
mercial house, so I beg you will take me as a servant in 
your family. I am poor, and-\vill be very attentive ; and 
rather than not be near you, I will work for nothing except 
my board and clothes.” 

The proposition struck Smithers as a favorable one, 
since it would save him a pound sterling a month, and he 
immediately assented to it. 


CRIMORA. 


25T 


You will remember,” said Smithers, I shall keep 
you only on the condition that your mother’s name and 
your origin shall never be mentioned within these doors.” 

I agree to it all, only too glad to serve so good a man 
— one who was kind to my mother.” In this last there 
seemed such a biting sarcasm that Smithers looked at the 
young man, as though he was sure of discovering a hidden 
meaning in it — but he was foiled. If anything was in- 
tended, it was forgotten on the instant, for his mother’s 
name, which he had mentioned, absorbed his every thought, 
and he was carried back to days when he sat with her, 
received her praise, had his good fortune and greatness 
predicted to him, was watched •over while ill, and wel- 
comed to her bosom when all the rest of the world spurned 
him. 

We then understand each other perfectly,” said 
Smithers. 

‘‘ I think we do ; but do you know nothing more of 
mother ? ” asked Charles. 

“ Nothing but what I have told you, and which I acci- 
dentally learned from a Scotch traveller.” 

I must go to her grave,” said the boy, then I will 
return and commence my servitude.” 

You can do as you think best,” said Smithers, grow- 
ing more austere the more he felt his son’s lack of power 
to harm him. 

‘‘ I think it will make me a better man,” said William, 
with sincerity. ‘‘ In two days I shall return.” 

“ You will then excuse me,” said Smithers, rising ; 
‘‘ and when you do return the servant and Mrs. Smithers 
22 * 


258 


GRIMORA. 


will instruct you in your duties, which we expect will be 
faithfully executed. I wish you good day.’’ 

The young man returned to the street, too sad to think 
of the successful step he had taken to rub off some of the 
score of disgrace his father had heaped upon him, and 
hunting up a public conveyance, was soon on his way to- 
wards Falmouth. 

When Wellington first reached the little village where 
his mother lay buried, he was greatly disappointed in not 
finding any one who knew anything of his mother, or had 
ever heard of her. At last an old man directed him to 
the parsonage, as the place where he would be mo{ t likely 
to obtain information ; so thitherward he directed his steps. 

Charles Wellington, seeking to console himself, little 
knew vdth what rudeness he was to strike the cords of 
other’s hearts ! With more than usual cordiality he was 
welcomed by the parson and his family ; for there was 
something in his voice, his expression, and gait, which 
awakened a feeling of sympathy of which they had no 
clue. 

I’m but a rude sailor,” said Charles to the parson, 
and making rather an awkward bow, and I hope j^ou ’ll 
excuse my intruding on you ; but I want to find the grave 
of my mother, who died in this village.” 

“ Your mission is a good, though melancholy one,” 
responded the parson. ‘‘ What was your mother’s name ?” 

‘‘ Margaret Wellington,” said the young sailor. 

“ I do not know that I ever heard that name,” said the 
good man. Where did she come from ? ” 

From Falmouth, and was going to London.” 

And died here ! How long ago ? ” asked the parson, 
with some trepidation. 


CBIM ORA - 


259 


Four years ago.’’ 

Good God ! Can it be our cliild you mean ? Oh, 
heavens ! it may be ; for I see in your every feature and 
look, my own lost Mary,” and he grasped the boy by the 
hand, and stared him into his face as though he would de- 
vour every lineament therein. ‘‘ Say on, my child, for I 
hope heaven has now answered my prayers, and is about to 
reveal to me the history of her life.” 

Good father,” said the young man, almost choked 
wdth grief, ‘‘ I know but little of her history, except that 
she was deceived by a rich man in London, called Smithers, ^ 
who some fifteen years ago sent her, under the name of Mrs. 
Wellington, to Falmouth, for some purposes of his ojvn, and 
promised to support her there. After a while he neglect- 
ed her, circumstances prevented her returning to London, 
and for a long time she lived in Falmouth destitute. She 
told me that Smithers w^as my father ; but when I sought 
him he kicked me from, his doors, and only now con- 
descends to receive me as a servant. He told me that he 
learned of her death from a Scotch traveller.” 

My son ! my son ! ” exclaimed the parson, in a tone 
of utter sadness, “ it was not thy sin, but my daughter’s. 
In you I have nothing to forgive, but will love you and 
serve you for my dear daughter’s sake. It was my 
daughter whom you seek. She died in these very arms. 
By the goodness of God she w^as permitted to come home to 
die. A kind Scotchman found her by the way-side, and 
aided her here, not knowing that he was conducting her to 
her father.” Here the old man’s tears and sobs inter- 
posed, and he could proceed no further. 


260 


CRIMORA. 


Good sir, i know now that I have told you what I 
ought not, for she was your daughter and my mother ; you 
must forgive me. And now, if you ’ll show me her grave, 
I will leave you, that I may not, by being here, bring up 
the recollection of ^ her sin ’ — if you call it so.” 

Without uttering a word, the old man led Wellington to 
the grave-yard, behind the church, where there was a 
mound without a monument, but shaded with flowers, 
which clustered thickly together, and showed the constant 
care of some tender hand. We will not attempt to de- 
^ scribe the scene at the grave. A child weeping for his 
mother, yet mingling with his grief some stern resolve of 
revenge. A father mourning for his own young lamb that 
went astray, mingling with his prayers for her happiness, 
his own blessing and forgiveness. 


CRIMORl . 


261 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

The good parson extended to Charles Wellington the 
courtesies of friendship and even paternity. The young 
man gratefully acknowledged, but could not accept of 
them, and turning back to London, commenced his duties 
as a servant. The bold, exciting life of a sailor, to Tvhich 
he had of late been accustomed, nearly unfitted him for « 
domestic drudgery, though the humble position he for 
several years previous occupied in captivity — a position 
in -which no murmur of complaint Avas allowed to escape 
his lips — enabled him to endure his confinement, and the 
severity of a stem master, with pei^ect equanimity. 

After some months, when so much accustomed to the 
presence of their neAV servant as not to remember that he 
stood behind their chairs, the Smithers’s talked without re- 
straint, and discussed family affairs as though they were 
entirely alone. , 

I am heartily glad that Avoman is dead,’’ said Smithers 
to his Avife, for she knoAV too much.” 

Yes ; but then she rendered us a great service, and 
Avas the means of bringing so much of my father’s property 
into our hands, and that, too, Avithout our committing any 
^crime,” said Mrs. Smithers% 


262 


CRIMORA. 


Crime ! ’’ echoed the husband ; ^^on the contrary, we 
did our neighbor the greatest possible service.” And 
Smithers appeared as though he believed (and, perhaps, 
by dint of perseverance it was so), that he had acted 
nobly. 

‘‘ But,” added the wife, coloring a little, but not looking 
up from her tea, ‘‘ if that is true which has been hinted at 
to me by my sister and some of our neighbors, you are 
glad, too, that Mrs. Wellington’s son is dead.” 

Hush, for God’s sake ! ” said Mr, Smithers, in an 
earnest whisper across the table. 

^^For,” continued the wife, sure that no one could hear 
her, if he was really your son he might have come in, 
eventually, for a large share of your property.” 

•^’Tis false!” exclaimed Smithers, enraged at his 
wife’s persisting in her story ; ‘‘ and if you ever repeat 
those words again. I’ll make you rue it.” 

‘‘‘ You would not get so angry,” said the wife, laughing, 

were it not true^ 

“ ’T is false as hell ! ” exclaimed Smithers again. “ The 
lying wench made up that — ” 

‘‘ Beware 1 ” said a low voice .behind him, ere he could 
finish the sentence. 

But ’t is no matter — I won’t be angry about it, for it 
has no truth in it,” continued Smithers, in a changed and 
subdued tone. 

“ But had I not been prudent,” said the wife, straighten- 
ing up, and cautioned them not to let out such a story, 
the whole town would have rang with it, and our respecta- 
bility gone like Mrs. Jones’s. • How do you suppose the 
story originated ? ” 


CRIMORA. 


263 


Probably from some person like you,” replied the tor- 
mented husband ; some one who continually talks about 
that of which they know nothing.” 

‘‘ Thank you,” said Mrs. Smithers, pertly! 

‘‘ Charles ! ” exclaimed Smithers, go and fetch me the 
newspaper.” 

When the man had disappeared, Smithers told his wife 
it was very imprudent to talk of such private matters — 
family affairs — before servants, as they always remem- 
bered and told everything they heard ; enlarged, distorted 
it, till a mouse became a monster, a marriage-vow a whole 
brood of babies. 

Mrs. Smithers was willing to admit there might be some 
truth in what he said, yet, in this instance, she thought 
ther^ could be no harm in joking about an idle rumor. 

Mr. Smithers entreated Mrs. Smithers never to mention, 
in presence of the servants, any such subject as lately dis- 
cussed, and received a promise, after she had been told 
that it did not argue respectability. 

Charles Wellington had now received a new proof of his 
father’s, rascality, of his worthless assertions — a new im- 
pulse to pursue steadily, till accomplished, the one great 
design of his heart, originating in his mother’s sacrifice. 
But as . yet he had found no clue to the place where the 
papers were deposited, nor did he know to what Mrs. 
Smithers referred when she spoke of the great service Mrs. 
Wellington had done them, or in what way property had 
come into their hands by her shrewdness. 

My mother,” Charles would say to himself, became 
an outcast to make this villain happy, and yet, he is glad 
she is dead. She gave to him wealth, he admits, — and 


264 


C R I M 0 E A . 


yet makes her son — aye, his own son — his slave. God 
could not have intended that such men should always 
prosper, and' I will believe that He will make me an instru- 
ment in humbling him, in destroying his reputation for 
respectability, in bringing him to poverty, and to misery, 
like my mother’s. . - 

In pursuance of his resolves, Wellington listened to 
every word uttered by his master and mistress, in hopes to 
get information respecting Bolaro’s papers. Sometimes he 
supposed they were in the bank, then, that they had been 
transferred for other property. • He watched Smithers 
wherever he went, — watched him through key-holes, 
through cracks, through windows, — and two years passed 
before he began to think that he had a clue to the (^eposit. 
He knew that Smithers would not keep them in his count- 
ing-room safe, as others had access to it, and he had him- 
self, with Smithers’s keys, one night examined it. If they 
were in his private drawers, they could be easily stolen, as 
he knew from having, on more than one occasion, picked 
every lock in his master’s keeping. 

Late one night, Smithers ordered into his study some^ 
flour paste. Charles was the one to obey the summons, 
but he saw nothing on which he supposed paste was to be 
used, except a piece of figured paper like that on the wall. 
This would have exeited litle attention, had there not lain 
near it a curious key, which he had often seen in the escri- 
toir, without knowing to what it belonged. Now the idea 
struck him, that these two things had something to do with 
each other, and had some connection with the precious 
documents he was in search of ; and he resolved to ascer- 
tain. 


CRIMORA. 


265 


On the following morning, when Smithers had gone to 
his counting-room, Wellington hastened to the study 
(where his thoughts had rested uninterruptedly), and 
sought eagerly for the trifle which had so much interested 
him the previous night, but it was not to be found. He 
cast his eyes about him in every direction, but nothing ap- 
peared awry. Passing his hand, however, over the wall, 
he encountered, between the escritoir and the window, 
the edges of a piece of paper of the form of that he was 
seeking, and a coolness and moisture about it not to be 
mistaken. Search was now at an end. In an instant the 
paper was torn oflF — revealing the face of a strong iron 
box, with a key-hole that told of the key to fit it — and in 
less than five minutes, Charles Wellington had transferred 
to his pockets the contents there concealed, re-locked the 
door, re-pasted the paper from the dish which still stood 
on the desk, ascended to his own apartment, and fastened 
himself in alone. 

‘‘ Well am I paid for my cringing service,” said the 
young man, as he unrolled the titles to Bolaro’s property, 
(including the Val de Mazzara,) and other papers of no 
value to any one but Smithers himself, but to him of ines- 
timable value. “ These last,” said he, I ^11 put into the 
fire, and the others I will restore to Saffi; my own adored 
Safii.” In a few moments the former were ashes, and the 
latter sewed up in the linings of his boots. 

That day, Smithers returned early from business, and 
was much depressed in spirits. ‘‘ I have,” said he to his 
wife, a very strange presentiment that something remark- 
able and even dreadful is going to happen to us. Every 
23 


266 


CRIMORA. 


moment of this day, there has been a whispering in my ear 
the prophecies of ruin.” 

That is foolish,” responded his wife, for we have 
now reached such a respectable position in society, that 
nothing can disturb, much less overthrow us.” 

Not even an earthquake, rolling under our very feet, 
I suppose ? ” was Smithers’s sarcastic reply. 

No, for it would not be dignified ; and a lack of dig- 
nity shows lack of respectability,” answered Mrs. Smithers, 
at the same time straightening up in her peculiar way, 
with intent to illustrate her profound remarks. Smithers 
was not calmed by her sophistry. He proceeded to his 
study to examine the state of things, and finding the moist- 
ure on the wall greater than he anticipated, was induced 
to make further investigations. 

If the key-stone of the great arch of heaven had fallen 
at his feet, and the scroll of Time had stopped its unfold- 
ings, John Knox Calvin Smithers could not have been 
more dismayed. Death rapped on his ossifying heart, 
but the hour of retribution was not yet come to him. 
With a frightful howl he leaped from the apartment, and 
flying from room to room, as though pursued by some fiend 
or following some phantom in the air, fell at last on the 
marble pavement, insensible. Hours of stupor followed, 
which were succeeded by sleep. The next morning found 
him more composed, but with a consciousness that he had 
passed through a terrific scene. Sensible, too, of his 
ruined position in view of his loss, and, as if aware that he 
had been culpably inactive, he went at once for the police, 
had his servant arrested and sent to prison. Search 


C R I M 0 R A . 


267 


was made for the missing documents in every nook, 
crevice, every chimney, under every floor, behind walls and 
ceilings, but nothing came to light to disprove the asser- 
tions of Charles Wellington, that he was innocent. After 
having kept the boy in prison for a long time, without 
being able to make anything out of it, Smithers ordered 
his liberation, and took him again into his family. Charles 
Wellington understood the policy of Smithers, and was ac- 
cordingly circumspect. He knew that his master acted 
thus benevolently, in hopes to discover by his movements 
some trace of the lost documents ; but he went quietly and 
unconcernedly to work, and never, by night or day, allowed 
himself ever to regard his treasure house with any par- 
ticular interest. 

After a few months more were joined to the past, 
Smithers, having somewhat allayed his suspicions, started 
for Glasgow, to attend the funeral of his departed sister. 
It was a glorious opportunity for Wellington, and he 
availed himself of it. He went to the Sardinian Consul’s, 
and obtained his passport, and the following day found him 
on board a Genoese vessel, bound for the land of his Saffi, 




268 


CKIMORA. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

4 

O, beautiful Gme ! thou City of Song ! 

What charms to thy vales, to thy mountains belong ; 

What dear recollections, what love thrills my soul, 

When I read thy fair name on Fama’s proud scroll ; 

When adown thy bold Alps and o’er thy strong walls. 

Soft twilight comes bathing thy bright frescoed halls ; 

When I wander in thought o’er thy vine-clad hills. 

And sleep ’mid the music of rose-crested rills. 

In thy perfumes and songs I revelled a year — 

No home to my heart will again be so dear. 

Beautiful Gme! la sirpei'ha to me ! 

Gem of Liguria, and fabled blue sea ! 

Oft visit my fancy with all that was dear — 

Come with the strains of thine ave MaHa ; 

Let thy bells chime again, and music and prayer, 

Fill full the fond soul and the rose-tinted air. 

From convent and villa — from spirits that grieve. 

Goes the incense of Love — ’tis Italy’s eve ! 

Fair Italy’s eve ! how hallowed the scene. 

The panting heart rests, the sad soul is serene. 

Fair Italy ! Gene ’s thy loveliest bride — - 

I’ll di-eam of my home there, w'hate’er may betide. 

The voyage to Italy, though quick as regarded time, 
was tediously long to the impatient youth — his £eart 
outstripping, in its speed, the swiftest messenger that ever 
flew. 

On arriving at Genoa, Wellington hastened to the 
Besagno and up the Val de Mazzara, till the cottage of 
liis loved Saffi caught his far-forward gaze ; but then he 
could proceed no farther. A sudden faintness seized him, 


C RIMORA. 


269 


his respiration was difficult, his limbs trembled, and he 
leaned against a rock for support. Moments or hours had 
vanished — he knew not how many — when a sweet voice 
came down the glen, and sent into his soul a new life. 
A new life it was, indeed, and he now rushed onward till 
the form of his heart’s idol stood before him. Here he 
stopped again ; but it was to prolong his happiness, or 
from a fear that the fair object might vanish at his un- 
heralded approach. 

Will not every ardent lover at once exclaim, Could he 
be so near her and she have no intuitive consciousness of 
it ? ” The fact is, she was playing with the very lamb 
her Charles had so kindly saved for her ; and at the very 
moment he was gazing on her, she had put her arms 
around the neck of her pet, to give expression to the 
feeling of love for her absent one then crowding her heart. 
No sooner, however, was his footstep heard, than she 
sprang towards him, and as he folded her to his bosom 
she laid her head upon his shoulder, and wept for joy. 
If she was happy, the lamb appeared no less so. It was 
evident she had not forgotten her preserver, and skipping 
along the path with her mistress, she put her feet ^pon 
the young man, and with a look of joy said all she could 
and waited to have her gratitude and her remembrance 
recognized by caresses. 

“ You are, then, still mine ? ” asked Charles, with a 
tremulous voice. 

All, all yours,” said Saffi, looking up into his happy 
face. 

* 


\ 


23 


270 


CRI MORA. 


Oh ! I SO feared you would doubt me and would wed 
another. I was gone so long a time that my heart has 
nearly broken.” 

No, no, dear Carlo,” said SaflS, “ Italians, if we 
really love, love always, and always wildly and fondly. 
But come, sit you here awhile, where I can see my flock, 
and then tell me all you have suffered. 

Still I was filled wdth distrust. Perhaps it was be- 
cause, having been bad myself, I doubted all others,” 
resumed Charles. 

“ You could never have been bad. One of so good a 
heart cannot do a bad act,” responded SafE. 

I have done many a bad act,” replied the lover, as he 
seated himself beside his idol. ‘‘ I have taken that which 
w^as not mine.” 

Necessity may have made you do many things, dear 
Carlo, which, had you the means of avoiding, your heart 
would not have let you do,” resumed the girl. 

That is true, sw^eet Safii,” replied Charles ; and I 
thank you for showing me how I can think of my past life 
without abhorrence.” 

^ Did you ever look on a suffering fellow creature, and 
not at once try and relieve him ? ” 

“ Never I” 

And have you not seen hundreds of the rich and so- 
called noble, turn from the distressed without the slightest 
shadow of pity, yet say they are better than you, because 
they never stole ? ” 

“ Such are called better,” replied Charles, sadly. 

But I know,” continued Saffi, “ that Heaven does not 
smile the more upon them ; for if they avoided a slight sin 


.CRIMORA. 


271 


of commission forced upon others by a hard fate, they will 
have to answer the vastly greater sin of omission their own 
selfish and hard hearts sustained them in, when God gave 
them, with an open hand, the means of doing otherwise.” 

Only an angel — only a good angel — could have 
spoken thus ! ” said Charles ; ‘‘ and if you will but be mine, 
I know by your own goodness you will enable me to 
repay the world for all it has suffered by me,” and he 
bathed Avith tears and kisses the warm little hand that was 
allowed to remain in his. 

Dear Carlo, that day you gave me back my lamb I 
was sacredly yours, and would have died before I would 
have wronged you.” 

“ But if you should become suddenly rich, would you 
not spurn so rough and rude a specimen of mankind ? ” 
interrogated Charles, trembling with emotion. 

Your eyes reveal to me a beauty and truth within, at 
which alone I look,” said SaflS. You are good at heart, 
and next to my God, I will ever love you.” 

“ Yourself all truth and beauty, think all the world so. 
But I will believe you, and now tell you that I have 
brought documents left by your uncle, which will make 
you owner of all this vast valley, and perhaps much other 
valuable property,” and he drew off his boots, and with 
his knife soon revealed the treasures he had so long 
carried there safely concealed. 

SaflS perused the papers with intense interest, but could 
not fully comprehend them, as she did not knoAV, or rather 
could hardly believe, that the dear child ” often men- 
tioned therein was herself. Again, the idea of being 
wealthy — of being obliged to leave her own little valley- 


272 


C RIM OR A., 


home, to be merged in the great vortex of the world of 
fashion — was startling, and far from inviting. 

own dear Carlo,” said Saffi, returning, with 
trembling hands, the strange writings, I read in these 
nothing but lines of sorrow ; or if I see in them a ray of 
light, it seems peering through the far-off uncertain aper- 
ture of a dark and dismal cavern, through which every 
step is beset with frightful pitfalls. Take these documents 
and destroy them, for if they are found upon you, to whom 
they do not belong, ►you will be imprisoned, and perhaps 
suffer death, (0, dear Carlo, do not let so dreadful a 
vision ever come to me again !) for theft, robbery, or 
murder. You may have thought yourself justified in 
procuring them, yet after all they may have been justly 
and legally held by the person from whom you took 
them.” 

No, no ! can you still think me vile ! ” interrupted 
Charles, throwing himself upon his knees, while the big 
tears stole down his cheeks ; “ I ” 

Do not frighten me, dear Carlo, by your earnestness,” 
said Saffi, intreatingly ; and please let me finish with my 
reasons for the request I make, before you reply to me, 
and then your answer will be a grateful one, because you 
will comprehend me.” 

Say on, sweet angel ! I feel that heaven approves of 
this my last act, if of no other,” and laying his head in the 
lap of his Saffi, Charles hstened in sad silence. 

I have said,” continued the girl, I am not by nature 
fitted for a gay and fashionable career ; and that it would 
kill me to have it thought possible that you could be found 
guilty of a crime. Now let me tell you of another incen- 


CRIMORA. 


273 


tive to my desire to have you destroy those documents. For 
the two long years that you have been absent I have rear- 
ed in my imagination the little cottage we were to inhabit, 
and daily planted around it sweet and precious plants, 
which I have watered with my tears, and thus made them 
too sacred to be torn up or left uncared for. Here in this 
valley, within sound of my dear mother’s voice, I w^as to 
have my home. You were to aid my father, and finally 
take charge of his flocks as he grows old, and be my only, 
my priceless treasure ; while I was to be the lone ‘ lily of 
the valley ’ that was ceaselessly to intoxicate you by its 
purity and perfume. The woods and the rocks were to 
echo our morning and evening prayers to the Virgin, and 
the wild birds take up our songs of love and cover these 
hills with melody. Beside me, as I have loved you so 
have I hoped there would grow a little perfect image of 
my stalwart lord, and every year add such joys to our 
wedded life that at last our garden would be full of 
memory’s brightest flowers. Such, such, dear Carlo, has 
been my fancy’s place of abode, and thus for two long 
years have I peopled and adorned it ; and oh ! if you love 
me, shut your eyes to that fictitious glare of light with 
which wealth now dazzles you, and here, amid the grandeur 
and artlessness of nature, live for her who so fondly loves 
you,” and she twined her arms frantically about his neck, 
and in the ardor and sincerity of her soul sealed with her 
lips upon his burning brow every word she uttered. 

If, dearest Saffi,” said Charles, as he rose and seated 
himself again by her side, you can conceive with what 
joy the weary and home-sick mariner returns to port after 
a long and boisterous voyage, and how shipwreck and tern- 


274 


QRIMOR A. 


pest, and frightful perils are all forgotten in the embrace of 
j&iends, then you may know how that I should feel, if after 
all my wanderings and sufferings I could make this my 
haven of rest, and have a home such as you have just pic- 
tured to me ; hut ah ! it cannot be. Were I to destroy 
these papers, I should confirm your impression of the bad- 
ness of my conduct. Were I to destroy these papers I 
should rob those of wealth who heaven designed should 
have it, and who heaven made worthy of it. Above 
all, if I should destroy those priceless writings, I should fail 
to keep my sacred word pledged to my poor mother ; I 
should fail in my duty to her, in my respect for her 
memory ; for, through many a long year of poverty and 
wretchedness, this very hour of triumph which approaches, 
sustained her.’’ 

“ Do you then love her so much more than you do me ? ” 
asked Saffi, despondingly. 

“ I cannot now answer that question,” replied Charles, 
with equal despondency, “ for it involves more than any 
words I am able at present to embody, can respond to. 
Time, time, dear Saffi, will solve it all ; and then, appre- , 
dated as I desire to be, I can freely give my hand where 
my heart already is ; while I shall be acknowledged as 
your benefactor, and just to all. Till that day I will keep 
the writings concealed, at least, will not destroy them — 
and await patiently the issue. But see — your father 
comes.” 

‘‘ Yes, yes, Carlo, and we must join him now, for you 
see our little flock crop the grass homeward.” 

The hearts of both Charles and Saffi were now heavy 
indeed. Charles Wellington could not, or rather feared, 


CRIMOR A. 


275 


under the circumstances, to explain all he knew in relation 
to the documents — convinced, too, that his triumph would 
be greater by delay ; while Saffi could not consent to live 
a life of luxury, or even of ease and comfort, with money 
not righteously obtained. 


276 


CRIMORA. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Again the divine Fanny was to appear on the Terpsi- 
chorean boards. An hour after her arrival in the capital 
almost every person of note had been apprised of it, and 
when it was known that the imperial family would grace 
the house in honor of her return, the nobility and all the 
elite of Vienna hastened to secure an entree. 

How splendid ! How brilliant ! How magnificent !” 
were the expressions heard in every part of the house. 
Few can imagine the gorgeous appearance of monarchical 
theatres when crowned heads appear, and the court and 
camp send in their numerous representatives, almost bur- 
dened with trappings and decorations of honor. On this 
occasion every box glittered with gold and diamonds, and 
when the emperor and empress entered, the whole house 
rose. Soon after, the curtain went up, and the divine 
Fanny, like a thing of air, descended upon the stage. 

If an angel had winged itself down from heaven, — if a 
beautiful fawn had leaped from the summit of a cloud-girt 
rock and alighted unharmed before the people, no greater 
thrill of delight could have animated them. Men who 
were ready to shout, stopped and held their breath as 
if entranced ; women who would ordinarily have uttered 


CRIMORA. 


27T 


exclamations of rapture, felt faint and were, silent ; child- 
ren, overcome by this embodiment of divinity, hid their 
heads beneath the shawls and coats of their parents. 

The gaze of the danseuse was turned towards the impe- 
rial box, where a youth of princely bearing was seen to rise, 
as if recognizing and welcoming the gentle salutation. 
The empress, highly gratified, nodded her head to the fairy, 
who proceeded in the execution of la Cachucha with such 
surprising grace and power that, when the curtain fell, the 
audience remained immoveable, as if fearing to break the 
spell and recall themselves to the calm realities of life. A 
moment after, however, there went up, as a relief to the 
almost painful quiet, a loud shout — and arch and dome 
rang to the encore ! encore ! 

The worshiped creature could not resist the appeal, and 
when she re-appeared the whole house again rose to greet 
her. Her triumph was complete — fully so in the impe- 
rial box, where it was of most importance. 

She is indeed captivating,” said the emperor. 

She is enchanting. Sire,” said the young duke. 

“ More enchanting still,” said the empress, when her 
sweet voice adds its music to her other charms.” 

I would give the world to know her ! ” exclaimed the 
youth. 

‘‘ She shall be, to-morrow evening, at Schonbrunn, 
where you can enjoy her society,” said the emperor. 

“ May it not be to-night. Sire ? ” asked Reichstadt. 

If it would much gratify you^ my fiery duke, it shall 
be even to-night,” replied the emperor ; and I will send 
instant invitation to her, to accompany us in our own 
carriage.” 


24 


278 


CRIM0RA. 


“ You are too kind, Sire ; yet I confess that it -would 
make me very happy, as she surpasses in beauty and grace 
all that has been told me by the empress.” 

“ Ah ! ” said the wily Charlotte, I thought it would 
be so, and therefore did not speak so highly of her as I 
might, lest you should really fall in love wdth her.” 

And why not fall in love with her? ” asked the duke, 
with much simplicity. ’ She is all that one could, wish, to 
make him happy ; at least when not more occupied than I 
am at present.” 

‘‘ You speak truly,” said the empress. 

‘‘ If, like my father,” said Eeichstadt, ‘‘ I had an em- 
pire, or the army of Italy or Egypt to look after and le^d 
to victories, I might not find time to enjoy the fruits of this 
Eden.” 

And which life would suit you best ? ” asked the 
emperor quickly, and eyeing him sharply. 

The -camp, Sire — the camp ; for the w^ar-spirit which 
hovers about an army has power to fill every soul with joy 
and the world with wonder.” 

.. ‘‘ Yes, but the spirit of Peace, my young hero, bestows 
more permanent happiness,” replied the emperor, giving 
to his consort, at the same time, a significant look, w^hich 
went to say, “ You see the temper that is to be subdued, 
and which our prison discipline does not effect.” 

Having been informed of the emperor’s wish, the fair 
danseuse was in readiness when the carriage stopped at the 
private door of the theatre. She did not yet know how 
perfect her conquest had been, but she was soon to learn ; 
for Eeichstadt, with all the impetuosity of youth, without 
waiting for the steps to be let down, sprang out to assist her 


CRIMORA . 


279 


— in no ways concealing the happiness he felt in having 
the privilege of touching the delicate hand that was des- 
tined to keep (perhaps) a sceptre from his brow, and, while 
binding about his temples a laurel wreath, fix in his heart 
the opiate of an aimless destiny, and sensuous Phoenix-like 
desires. 

The imperial family proceeded towards Schonbrunn. 
The young duke sat beside the enchantress, who each 
moment won her way more deeply into his affections, by a 
half courtly, half abandon manner, aided by dress, which 
was ever wdth her the ne plus ultra of good taste and ele- 
gant revealings. Her arms were bare, and one of them, 
more beautiful than if modelled in alabaster, lay on her dark 
velvet mantle. Keichstadt coveted the snowy treasure, 
and had he been alone with its possessor, would have 
prayed to imprint on it some of the warmest of lasses : he 
now only sought to bring his hand to rest against it, — which 
he did by a careless arrangement of his cloak. Heaven 
seemed at once to have come down to him, and if his soul 
had been touched with a live coal from the altar of passion, 
it could not have burned with greater vehemence. Jlis 
movements, however, were apparently unnoticed by the 
worshipped one, who was gazmg out of the opposite win- 
dow, while the emperor and empress, mistrusting the sen- 
timents of their grand-child, did not interrupt him. Elated 
and emboldened^ the youth proceeded to obtain the now 
neighboring hand, which, like the softest velvet, yielded to 
his touch. In a few moments, beneath the folds of the 
aforesaid mantle, his fingers were twined with others which 
returned, by almost imperceptible contractions, the wild and 
passionate pressure he constantly gave them. 


CRIMORA. 


^0 

If the j^oung Duke de Reichstadt had loved the divine 
Fanny when gazing on her in the exciting and bewildering 
evolutions of the dance, he was now trebly involved, and if 
she had, at the moment w e speak of, asked him for all he 
possessed or expected to inherit, he would have bestowed 
them wdth the utmost cheerfulness to win the gentle crea- 
ture to himself. 

Though the youth was overwhelmed with the felicite 
'parfaite of his position, he soon recollected that there were 
others present besides his inamorata^ and in order to avoid 
the awkwardness of longer silence, said — What did you 
observe. Sire ? 

‘‘ That happiness often makes us forgetful of our duties,’’ 
responded the emperor. 

It is indeed so. Sire ; and I fear tlfkt in the quiet and 
unburdened hours of joy you so constantly afford me, I am 
too unmindful of my indebtedness.” 

Not so, my child. We have no greater happiness than 
to m.ake you happy; and though our maturer judgment 
may sometime dictate for you a course that may not at 
first appear to your youthful mind either important or 
necessary, be assured our ulterior designs will meet with 
your later commendation.” 

Just as the emperor says,” interrupted the empress ; 

and a proof of our desire to keep your mind in a health- 
ful and cheerful state, we have this evening prayed 
Mademoiselle Fanny to accompany us to Schonbrunn, and 
be, for some days, our guest.” 

‘‘ I am but too highly honored,” replied the danseuse. 

Court circles, like all others, become w^earisome, and 
it is a beneficent Providence which occasionally sends to 


CRIM ORA . 


281 


us some cliarming bird of passage like yourself, to relieve 
us of the enyiui of it,” said Charlotte. 

Spare me, kind empress, I pray you,” said the youth- 
ful divinity, who, turning her head, saw that the duke 
was gazing at her with an expression of the deepest adora- 
tion, while the flush on his cheeks, his clear, smooth fore- 
head, his beautifully-arched eyebrows, his classic mouth — 
now just sufliciently parted to reveal his pure pearls of 
teeth — rendered him so truly beautiful, that her own 
heart, by its wild and sudden beatings, confessed its new 
interest, and her warm open hand, now pressing fondly 
against the one that still enslaved it, gave token of. 

Oh, Love ! Love ! The boon kind heaven has vouch- 
* safed to mortals as the foretaste of Paradise ! What would 
the wide world be without thee ! Thou art the Divine 
electricity of the higher atmosphere which girds the great 
temple of the universe in which we worship ; and on those 
who seek thee in purity of heart thou dost descend, as did 
that from the clouds courted by our great philosopher ! 
Thou art the source of all good and all happiness, and 
those who approach nearest to God are the most permeated 
by thee ! 

Though the young duke had had a world of thought and 
feeling, when the carriage drove in the great court in 
front of the palace, it appeared but a moment since he left 
the theatre with his cava arnica. He wdshed much to pro- 
long the ride, for he knew not what opportunity might 
be offered to him again for clasping those little hands in 
his. If he had mistrusted the real motives for which the 
danseuse had been brought to Schonbrunn, he would not 
have heaved the sigh he did ; but having been literally 
24 * 


282 


CRIMORA . 


shut up from the world, guarded as the wild cub of a fero- 
cious lion, the silken snare that was laid for him was as far 
from his conceptions as the end of eternity. Had he 
visions ? — they were all of one single form and image — 
though in numbers countless, in beauty unearthly — angels 
who, like those on Jacob’s ladder, descended and ascended 
continually, forming a seraphic union with his heaven. 

Soon after arriving, they sat down to a magnificent sup- 
per ; but the youth’s appetite had gone. He evidently 
saw nothing on the table that pleased him, till it was made 
servicable to his Fanny. When the hour of retiring came, 
the empress announced to her guest, that the suite of 
apartments allotted to her were between her own and that 
of her grandchild, (at the same time hinting that the young 
gallant could have no objections to the proximity of an 
angel,) who, by her command (expressed with the blandest 
smile), would show them to her. 

The duke, now left alone with the charmer, proffered at 
once, and deferentially, his services to fulfil the mandate of 
his august mother ; and there is little doubt that he exe- 
cuted his task in a most acceptable manner, though with 
such a wild throbbing of heart, he hardly remembered 
whether he was talking or walking, or neither or both. 
On reaching the bed-chamber, he bade ‘‘the angel” a 
most respectful good night, and passed directly on to his 
own apartment. 

We will not attempt to describe the feelings of Reich- 
stadt, when he heard the door which he had just closed 
behind him, fastened on the inner side. 

“ She distrusts my honor,” said the duke, in a tone of 
real sorrow. “ She has fastened the door upon me, as 


CRIMORA. 


283 


though she feared that I would not respect the sanctity of 
her private apartments. Ah ! how little does she yet 
know of me ! She might throw open her doors, and I 
would indeed love to watch her while she slept, to see that 
no harm came] to her. I would indeed love to bend so 
near those ruby lips that I could catch their every breath ; 
but I would rather die than give to any of her dreams one 
tinge of sorrow.’’ 

The danseuse loved the youth, yet she had a mission to 
fulfil, and she was well aware, that to be too easily won, 
was to resign half the charm of conquest, and half the 
power to retain her victim. Her locking the door had the 
effect she intended. She knew that if he partook of the 
character of his father, the greater the obstacles the more 
determined he would be in his resolves to overcome them. 
She knew if she distrusted him, he would take the greater 
pains to prove his sincerity. But let. us leave them falling 
asleep in thoughts of each other. 


284 


C R I xM 0 R A . 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

What Mrs. Smithers had said about il Signor Alfier- 
dermo, did not fail to have, in part, the desired effect, 
though Aluine strove, with all her soul’s strength, to drive 
every word of it out of her memory. If her confidence in 
him had been entirely overthrown, her reason w’ould have 
gone with it ; but her nature was confiding, and at the 
bottom of her heart there rested the firm foundation of an 
unwavering faith death only could palsy. 

What Mrs. Smithers had said was substantiated, in part, 
by the silence of Alfierdermo, and by what seemed natu- 
ral ; and it came mingling itself with all of the beautiful 
creature’s thoughts, and continually ruffled the surface of 
that otherwise placid sea of love, where her barque of trust 
was wont so happily to glide. 

‘‘ Perhaps,” she would say to herself, he is not pleased 
with the course I have pursued ; but oh ! if he could know 
what I myself suffer by it, and the sincere love which ac- 
tuated me and now sustains me in this dreadful trial, he 
would bless me with every breath he draws. It may be 
he dislikes me for another reason, but ah ! that would be 
unnatural ; it is natural that he should love me more now 
than when he first knew me. Perhaps — perhaps — he is 
— false ! No, no ; God’s purest image can not be false ! ” 


CPtIMORA. 


285 


and, retiring to her private room, she drew out her little 
delicate and sweetly perfumed note-paper, used only in 
writing to her lover, and with all that confiding love which 
so distinguished her, wrote a long epistle. Having sealed 
it with a heart and a tear, she rang for her maid, who soon 
made her appearance. 

Mary, dear, take this to the post.’’ 

“ Yes, marm,” said Mary. 

‘‘ Be sure, Mary, that no one sees it, and that you put 
it into the box of the post office. Be sure, Mary — that’s 
a good girl — put it in the right box.” 

‘‘ That I will, ’pon my life, Mrs. Jones,” said the ser- 
vant, courtesying very low, and hastening away with the 
letter. Ten minutes afterwards, Mrs. Smithers was perus- 
ing it, flushed with hate, jealousy, and almost every fiend- 
ish sentiment the most foliotish of women could possibly 
cherish. The letter ran thus : 

My dear, my ever adored Fiello : — 

Your long silence almost deprives me of reason. I hear 
that you are well, and happy with your lawful wife. I hear 
that your good father is also well ; yet you do not come to 
her whom you have so often called your own Aluine, nor 
write to her. Have I wronged you in any way ? Have I 
not done as you would have me ? Do you doubt me ? 

Dearest Fiello, I do love you, and say so to myself every 
hour of the day, — and have loved you with an adoration, a 
worship, a wild, intense passion, your love for me never has, 
and never can, surpass. I have loved you so, that to look 
upon you, to dwell upon the beauty of yOur form and face, 
was almost a delirium — the intensity of my love and 


286 


CRIMORA. 


happiness made me feel faint. I have loved you so, that the 
wildest and most rapturous demonstrations of passion you 
ever made, seemed cold and tame to the gushing and over- 
whelming torrent of love that filled my soul. If I should 
live a million of years, surrounded by the joys of heaven, 
I could not forget the hours of bliss I have spent with 
you. And now, I ask myself daily, hourly, in sadness of 
, heart, if these emotions are fled forever. 

Oh, Fiello ! beautiful Fiello ! I fear that our love was 
too sweet. There was too much of poetry, too much of 
unreal life, to have it last. But I have always had a pride 
in my love for you, for I felt that it awakened in my soul 
beautiful thoughts and emotions, that might have slum- 
bered there for ever. I have, too, always had a pride in 
my devotion to you — that in spite of my many, many 
temptations, my heart swerved not ; a pride in the con- 
sciousness that I did and could love with the devotion and 
passion of which I had read so much and seen so little. 
I had a firm conviction, too, that if my love was unholy, 
its devotion and faith would at last sanctify it. 

Now that I do not hear from you, dearest Fiello, each 
day grows longer and longer. My legal protector is ever 
kind to me, but he comes no nearer to my heart. If he 
knew how much I suffer, he would doubtless say I merited 
it, but he would be as far from the truth as he would from 
understanding me if I should tell him that there is a joy 
even in my sorrow, and from the same source, which, for 
an hour, I would not yield, to inherit for ages the negative 
happiness I have with him. 

Light of my soul, hear the pleadings of my fond heart. 


CRIMOKA. 


28T 


and write to me again. Believe that I am to you all that 
you would have me be — your own, your ever faithful 

Aluine.” 

And ’when he gets this,” said Mrs. Smithers, ^^he 
will believe all she says — the jade!” and she put the 
letter into her private emritoir^ and turned the key on it. 

When Alfierdermo arrived in Genoa, he found his father 
convalescent, but still needing his assistance ; in fact, 
business cares had so much increased upon the old man, 
and his health had become so variable, that his son’s duty 
to remain with him was imperative. 

We will do Alfierdermo the justice to say that he was 
much affected by the change he noticed in^his father, and 
that he found much happiness in serving him ; but the 
greeting of his wife was so cold — so unlike the wild, free, 
spontaneous welcome, the Avarm, guileless heart of Aluino 
ever prompted her to extend to him, he could not embrace 
her, and in an instant dropped the hand he had taken, as 
though it had been the cold folds of an adder. 

Wrecks and months passed aAvay, and with the most 
intense anxiety Alfierdermo waited for answers to his 
letters which he had written according to promise and 
agreement. Day by day, at the appointed hour, he was 
sure to kneel at the throne of grace, where he felt a very 
strange degree of happiness in a sense that his loved one 
Avas kneeling too at the same moment, and breathing 
with a pure and earnest heart, his name into the ear of 
Divinity ; but when he left the place of prayer his faith 
turned into distrust, and he wore the aspect of a perfect 


288 


CRIMOEA. 


victim of melancholy. When he felt that he could no 
longer endure her silence, he wrote again : 

^^Aluine, dearest Aluine, most beautiful of earth, may I 
still call you mine ? Alas ! I fear 1 may not ; yet if my 
adoration of your divinity could in its degree entitle me to 
such a Paradise in this world, yoi:^would indeed, belong to 
no other. I have written to you many letters, but receive 
no answers. Do you repent of your love ? Has any one 
falsified me to you ? I could not endure this silence, if I 
did not seem to find you and commune with you, each 
day, as, at the appointed hour, I kneel and pray for you. 
I should fly to you instantly, if such a thing were in my 
power ; but my father, though well enough to attend to 
business, distrusts himself, and will not despatch a letter 
or close an account, till I have examined it. How long 
this will continue, I know not; however long it does 
continue, will be time counted by my heart’s misery, while 
a strict sense of duty must confine me to it. Of this, my 
dear silver dove, I know the goodness of your heart will 
approve. 

Now, sweet Lorma, I must bid you adieu ; but it is 
with a fearful throbbing in my bosom that I write it. 
When my letter is sealed, it seems as though the golden 
door of our communion was closed upon me, never to be 
re-opened by your beautiful hands. Hope, however, still 
lights the horizon beyond, and sending a gleam along the 
dark ocean of despair which now surrounds me, enables me 
to write, — Ever, ever your faithful 


Fiello.” 


CRIMORA. 


289 


This letter, like the Italian’s preceding ones, fell into 
the hands of Mrs. Smithers. She read it and placed 
it in the private drawer where Aluine’s, with open folds, 
welcomed it. But Mrs. Smithers, though perfectly suc- 
cessful in all her schemes, was far from being happy or 
even satisfied. She would exclaim to herself, as she 
paced the room, What unconquerable faith these lovers 
have in each other! If he was lover,” — and here 
she heaved a long sigh — and he missed a single oppor- 
tunity to write — if he neglected to answer one single one 
of my letters, I would never speak or write to him again ; 
but here are two creatures whose confidence in each other 
I cannot destroy, though their letters are never answered, 
and they are told, with all the plausibility of circum- 
stances, that there is cause to distrust every plighted vow. 
It is very strange ! I cannot comprehend it. I will not, 
however, desist ; and if this scheme fails I have yet another 
by which I am sure to bring upon her whose beauty has 
made her my rival, sudden and utter ruin. It is more 
pleasant to me, however, to see her coil slowly into the 
fire.” 

It is not to be wondered at that Mrs. Smithers did not 
\mderstand the faith Aluine and Alfierdermo had in each 
other. It would have been very strange if she had in a 
moiety comprehended it, for there was really more virtue, 
truth, goodness, in their love, than in the most pious or 
devotional act ever performed by this very respectable 
member of society — this exemplary (as she styled herself) 
head of the Ladies’ Look-After-Other7People’s-Business 
Association ” — this female miasma in the otherwise whole- 
some and agreeable community. , 

25 


290 


CRIMORA. 


I have said that Mrs. Smithers preferred seeing her 
victim coil sloivly into the fire, than precipitated at once 
into the abyss of despair ; as* the latter would have 
deprived her Satanic appetite of the very sweetest morsel 
she daily enjoyed. But when she heard of the death of 
Mrs. Wellington she was somewhat startled, as she sup- 
posed a denouement must at once accrue that would be fatal 
to the continuance of her designs. She accordingly 
hastened to know the result, and found that her alarm was 
premature. Mrs. Jones received the news of Mrs. Wel- 
lington’s decease with a sudden palor, a slight quivering 
of the lips, but without any of those wild exclamations 
with which Mrs. Smithers expected her half-sister would 
betray her interest in the departed. 

When Mrs. Smithers had poured this new poison into 
the cup Aluine was now draining in all its cruel bitterness 
to the very dregs, she turned away from Mrs. Jones’s 
stately mansion with an air of much satisfaction. 

Alone, Aluine contemplated her increasing miseries. 
When month and month passed, and no letter came from 
her adored one, she leaned upon the altar of a natural 
faith ; but when years were added to years, and there 
reached her no sign of remembrance, no souvenir of love, 
she drooped like the lily when the worm feeds at its roots, 
and bore striking evidence that her tenure of life was frail 
indeed, and that at any moment she might be borne away, 
as the light fleecy clouds, which we sometimes see hanging 
on a mountain’s side, are by the swift wing of the tempest. 


CRIMORA. 


291 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

A LONG voyage brought Tzella in sight of the shores of 
her native land. She greeted them as something very 
grateful to her eyes, though they did not arouse that enthu- 
siasm, which, even if latent, one would sujDpose she must 
naturally have felt. At this time, all noticed that there 
came rolling in from the North West, a long and very 
heavy swell of sea, which was a sure sign that in that di- 
rection a gale had been blowing ; and in a few hours it 
bore down upon them with terrific force. Every sail that 
had not been furled was torn into strings, — into some 
that were well secured the wind caught and twisted them 
from their gaskets as though they had been fastenings of 
gauze. The captain at once ‘‘ up helm,” and put the vessel 
before the storm. A short time scudding brought her to 
the French coast, from which, having now no sails bent, he 
could not work off.” He then hove the craft to as well 
as he could, and cut away the. masts. But night came, 
the tempest howled in its saddest and most fearful 
wildness, and drove them still towards the fatal shore. 
The watch had neglected their duty, and no one knew the 
hour ; but the ship rolled so in the trough of the sea that 
it kept the bell constantly tolling, and added to the gloom 
which overshadowed the helpless. At last the vessel 


292 


C RIM on A. 


seemed to have received a heavy blow ; she reeled, 
trembled, and groaned at another and another shock ; — 
she had struck and was fast. The sea now made a clean 
breach over her, and consternation and wild despair seized 
upon all. The boats were cut away, and every soul, except 
Tzella and her charge, rushed into them. Tzella would 
not go without her adopted father, and she could not take 
him. Only a moment was given her to decide — the 
boats were off, and probably swamped in the first breaker, 
for they nor their crews -were ever heard of more. Tzella 
clung to her old friend, -whom she had secured by a rope 
so that he could not be washed away, and with that faith 
in the goodness of God she had always manifested, s-he 
fervently prayed. When morning davmed the vessel was 
breaking up, but the sea had abated ; and when the sun 
rose, a steamer bore down to the wreck, and with a life- 
boat and one of those fearless crews wdiose noble daring 
and humane efforts have been the admiration of the world, 
took the perishing Tzella and her companion and landed 
them safely at Havre. 

When Tzella parted from her rescuers there was not a 
dry eye in the crowd that had gathered about her to learn 
something of her history and gaze on her beauty. She did 
not appear to think that her own life was worth the saving ; 
but that these good men should have saved her kind, good, 
old, feetless, adopted father, was what her heart deeply felt, 
and she threw her arms over their broad, sinewy shoulders, 
pressed them again and again to her breast, and wept out 
‘‘ God bless! God bless you I ” 

Tzella and her companion, having lost in the wreck all 
the money they possessed, had nothing to offer to their 


CRIMORA. 


293 


preservers but thanks and tears, yet those bold hearts felt 
fully paid for the dangers they had run to save the fair 
girl ; and when her eyes streamed with gratitude, they re- 
newed their resolves to be again worthy of such a reward. 

After the sad scene of separation was over, Tzella 
begged some of the by-standers to aid in carrying the 
cripple from the quay to the street. Her desire was 
readily complied with. When once in the crowded 
thoroughfares, the poor girl felt certain that every one 
who saw the helpless state of her companion would ad- 
minister to his necessities liberally and cheerfully. But 
alas ! how bitter was her disappointment. She held out 
her slender hand to one who, neither regarding the beauty 
of the suppliant nor the object for which charity was 
asked, struck it rudely with his cane. Would to God his 
own heart could have bled for a moment as her’s did ! 
Her voice after that lost its confidence, and she approach- 
ed each one with a tremulous accent and faltering step. 
These, of course, were supposed to be assumed as the trick 
of a beggar, and from the next passer she received a fear- 
ful frown, from another a harsh non ; w^hile a third stepped 
off of the walk to avoid her. At last, wearied out in body 
and with a grief no longer supportable, she turned for con- 
solation to her companion — sat down beside him on the 
dirty walk, with an agony the desolate only can know. 
But the comfort she sought was not there. The fatigues 
of the voyage, exposure, and want of food, had much 
reduced the old man ; and now spasmodic pains, that pro- 
ceeded from the amputated limbs to his stomach, seized 
him, his face became purple, and he looked like one about 
to give up the ghost. Tzella was so frightened, she no 
2b* 


294 


C RIM OR A. 


longer thought of herself, and springing up, ran with the 
utmost speed along the street to find a physician. A sign 
which indicated the residence of a medecin^ caught her eye, 
and she rang the bell ; but the servant, supposing her to be 
a beggar as she could not in a moment explain her wants, 
closed the door upon her. Again she hurried on, but no 
one listened to her — no one cared for her ; and she was 
forced to return. But oh ! what would she not have given 
could she have brought relief to her suffering friend ! A 
fountain was near — she ran and brought water in her 
hands and gave him to drink ; it was all she could do. 

Night, cold and cheerless, was upon them. Tzella as- 
sisted the old man into a corner beside a large stone post, 
and by her exertions, chafing his hands and his feverish 
forehead, kept herself warm. But when the light came 
and she could look into the face of the cripple, she felt 
certain his days were numbered. 

Another day and another night of biting want passed 
away, and when the sun rose on the third morning it found 
the kind Tzella bathing the brow of a corpse. The police 
came and took the body away. There was one mourner 
•who followed it, such an one as all might covet at such a 
time. She followed it, but as one whose thoughts were not 
of this world. She staid by it till it was lowered into its 
narrow house; — then there burst upon her the startling 
reality that on the face of the great earth she stood alone ; 
and, as one bereft of reason, was pitied and led away by a 
humane official. 

A little nourishment and attention revived the fair 
stranger ; and, as soon as she was able to give an account of 
herself, was permitted to go abroad again as one capable of 
earning her own living. 


CRIMOR A . 


295 


Tzella felt that she was indeed alone. If her Cuban 
preserver had lived to speak comfort to her, she could have 
endured every species of hardship and privation ; but now, 
without father, mother, or friend, she was indeed like the 
lamb who went astray in the mountains — without a bed, 
save the cold earth ; without a canopy, save the blue arch 
of heaveu ; without a guide, save her own ignorance ; with- 
out a protector, save her own innocence. 

Tzella wandered about the streets, and seeing a girl of 
her own age sitting on the steps of a hotel eating some 
bread and olives, asked her to share them with her, as she 
w^as hungry. The young creature thus appealed to, having 
a heart, gave the suppliant all that remained of her food. 
This so pleased the recipient that she tried to think of 
some means of repaying her. She looked at her own 
scanty costume, but did not discover anything she could 
part with but the handkerchief pinned about her throat. 
This trifle she immediately took ofl* and presented to the 
sister of want, leaving the whitest and loveliest of shoulders 
exposed to the bright day. 

Tzella, however, was Unconscious, or perhaps heedless, 
of any one of the thousand charms around which her mass 
of uncombed hair and beggar’s garb threw an almost im- 
penetrable shield ; she only acted on the impulses of a 
benevolent disposition, and could not rest satisfied till, by 
some act or other, she had won the friendship and esteem 
of her generous companiomin poverty. A new idea now 
struck her ; — it was to teach the girl some Spanish 
dances by which they both could get their living, from their 
united exhibitions, — and she at once proposed it. Nothing 
could have been more acceptable ; so Tzella, leading her 
from the public trottoir into the court-yard of the hotel, 


296 


CRIMORA. 


began, with her native grace, to show the quality of the 
accomplishment to which she referred. When she had 
fini shed the first bolero^ a large silver coin fell at her feet, 
and then another and another. Astonished, she looked 
up, and seeing on the balcony numerous young gentlemen, 
who seemed overwhelmed with admiration, she left the 
money and fled to the street. But what next ? Remem- 
bering her necessities, she turned back, and having picked 
up the pieces and divided them with her new friend, was 
about hastening away, when one of the donors who had 
descended to the pave^ familiarly accosted her. 

‘‘ Jo No hallo bueno Francesa^^ said Tzella, blushing. 

“ Ah ! Vs. es Espanol^^^ said the young man, speaking 
in Spanish. 

No, Senor, I am English,” replied Tzella. 

‘‘ English ! I cannot believe you are of my country,” 
said the stranger. 

“ I am, sir, English, but have long been in a Spanish 
country, and know something of its language,” responded 
the fair girl. 

I could hardly believe it,” ' replied the Englishman, 
‘‘ did I not hear it from your own sweet lips (Tzella hung 
down her head, as if to look at her little feet then patting 
the pavement) ; for those large, languishing eyes, that 
luxurious raven hair, belongs not to our climate — though 
the transcendantly delicate skin of which you can boast, 
and which will carry for you the palm of beauty through 
the world, lays better claim to a northern atmosphere.” 

You are very kind, sir,” said Tzella, trembling, “ and 
I thank you for your generous gifts, for I am poor ; but 
please, sir, do not attempt to flatter me — I do not 
like it.” 


CRIMORA. 


297 


Indeed, beautiful girl, if my life were the forfeit of 
falsity, I still would say that you are lovely,” continued 
the stranger. “ If you deny it, it is because you have not 
seen yourself as I see you. Your form is perfect, and 
your expression — the soul — is of heaven. Who is your 
companion ? ” 

I do not know ; but she gave me bread, and so I 
love her,” answered Tzella. 

“ Are you indeed so poor, while I am throwing away 
thousands of dollars for nothing ? Have you no friends 
nor relatives ? ” 

None.” 

And if I would pledge my word to act honorably 
towards you, will you accept of proper clothing and fo o 
at my hands ? ” 

‘‘ I do not know, sir,” and Tzella’s voice was faint, for 
she really knew not what she ought to Ho, or to whom she 
spoke. 

‘‘You do not know ! Do you prefer to beg in the 
streets, to receiving aid from one of your own countrymen? 
I will, as I have assured* you, act honorably ; will imme- 
diately procure you suitable costume, and will then seek for 
you a place on the stage, where, by yOur grace — your 
innumerable personal charms — you can win both wealth 
and fame.” 

“ You speak kindly, good sir, and*if you will not think 
badly of me I will accept your offer, but only on the con- 
dition that if I have ever the means to repay you, you shall 
receive back all I may now cost you.” 

“ If that is the only condition, I accept it readily ; and 
now let us go at once to the dress-maker’s and procure 
such clothing as you require.” 


298 


CRIMORA. 


Tzella, with some sadness, parted with her female fi’iend, 
and following, at a respectful distance, the young English- 
man, reached a French shop, where the exquisite taste 
displayed in every article filled her with delight. 

Behind a curtain, in the back part of the room, Tzella 
was newly attired, her hair arranged, and a jaunty little hat, 
that became her exceedingly, fitted to her head. In half 
an hour she appeared in the street arm in arm with her 
friend, who was astonished at the sensation her beauty 
created. Arrived again at the hotels he procured for her 
a neat apartment, and requested the servants to pay par- 
ticular attention to her. 

When left alone, Tzella’s first desire appeared to be re- 
pose — repose of body and mind ; and for two days she 
begged thus to be permitted to pass her hours. In the 
meantime, the Englishman had been to the theatre and 
bespoken a rehearsal for her, and an engagement as a 
Spanish danseuse^ provided she pleased the mana'ger. 

When the two days w^ere passed, and the fair creature 
had fully recovered, she was informed of the arrange- 
ments her friend had made. She confessed the gratitude 
she felt, but feared lest she should fall far short of his 
praises. She woflld do her best, she said, but prayed him 
to forgive her if she failed. 


C RIM ORA . 


299 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Tzella, for several days, attended rehearsals at the the- 
atre, and by great assiduity, by the utmost attention to all 
that was told her by the stage manager, succeeded in 
winning his confidence in her success. The directeure^ 
when he had noticed her peculiar beauty, her inimitable 
grace, as well as admired the perfect lightness of her step, 
her little feet and taper ancles — which, he said, would have 
a most taking effect, — considered that he had obtained a 
perfect treasure. The trial, however, was to come. 

One would have supposed that the labor which Tzella 
had done in the mines would have enlarged both her hands 
and feet, but such was not the case. True to the law of 
the ^‘aristocracy in nature,’’ they remained charmingly 
small, while her form was being developed, and her muscles 
obtaining a vigor and strength astonishingly great. 

To appear before an audience for the first time requires 
great moral courage, and when the Englishman learned her 
history, he trembled lest she should utterly fail. Tzella 
had had the nature of all this explained to her, and though 
never having tested her fortitude under such strange fortu- 
ities, she had an innate sense of a power, a virtue, that, she 
was certain almost, would sustain her. She remembered 
her poverty, loneliness, destitution — that on mere charity 
she was subsisting — and she resolved to be worthy of the 


800 


CRIMORA. 


confidence reposed in her, and of the generous effort which 
had been made in her favor. 

On the evening of Tzella’s debut^ the curtain rose to a 
'full and fashionable house. ^ Misanthrope — great 

and ingenious — had been gone through with, but, by its 
peculiar denouement y left the audience almost without emo- 
tion, and prepared it for the dance — for the dance ? 
yes — for any change; but not for that wonderful, un- 
earthly beauty which stood before it when the curtain 
again rose. - 

Tzella was in an elegant Spanish costume — the stuff 
a dehcate pink satin, with trimmings of black lace — which 
showed off the whiteness of her round shoulders and bust 
to the greatest advantage. To please her natural modesty, 
her skirts were a little too short ; but then, her limbs were 
so exquisitely turned, one would have thought her modelled 
from the Venus de Medicis, and could neither censure nor 
disapprove — could only admire. She had attired herself 
before the long mirror in the boudoir of the theatre, and 
was charmed and astonished at her own perfections. She 
had dreamed — and she had dreamed rightly — that her 
mother was of such a mould ; but it was the first time she 
had ever seen herself as she really was, and she came be- 
fore the house with no more embarrassment than a child 
feels, when, with a new gown on, she presents herself to 
her parents. 

Simple, sinless, sans sensualite — now looking on the 
audience as so many brothers, friends, protectors — she 
commenced the bolero. If her beauty had charmed the 
spectators, her grace, the chasteness yet brilliancy of her 
execution, now raised an enthusiasm that soon became 


CRIMORA. 


301 


almost friglitful. The dance was finished, but the audience 
were far from surfeited. “ Encore! Encore! Encore !^^ 
rang from every part of the house, and the delighted 
Tzella again appeared, and again won rapturous applause. 
For the third time she was called out, but, too weary to 
dance more, looked such gratitude that none were willing 
to part with her, and, for the fourth time, she appeared, 
when bouquets, handkerchiefs, rings, and bracelets, fell 
round her in profusion. Her triumph was wonderful, like 
her beauty — replete with satisfaction, as her motions were 
with grace ; and, when she retired to the boudoir^ the 
manager embraced her as his child, and thanked her with . 
every mark of sincerity. 

Young Conrad — the Englishman whom we have men- 
tioned as presenting the danseuse at this theatre — was 
waiting for her with the utmost impatience, for he thought 
that he now loved her, and was jealous of the pleasure she 
experienced in the admiration of the audience ; and, as he 
conducted her home, began to talk to her of supporting her 
himself, and not allowing her to go again on the stage. 

But,” said Tzella, I must fulfil my engagement with 
the manager ; I like him too, for, when I came from the 
stage, he spoke to me with the kindness of a father. Oh ! 
there is something in kindness which speaks powerfully to 
my heart. I do not know the emotions of love, except 
such as I bore for my good old departed friend ; and I feel 
an innate conviction, that in heaven only there exists the 
solace my soul daily and hourly cries for.” 

While we are of the earth we should enjoy the pleas- 
ures of earth,” replied Conrad. 

What are the pleasures of earth ? ” asked Tzella. 

28 


302 


C EI M 0 R A . 


“ They are innumerable ; — eating, drinking, sleeping, 
gaming, the chase, the theatre, &c., &c., ^nd above all — 
love.’’ 

‘‘ The first you mentioned are, I think, what are called 
sensual, and belong alike to inferior and superior animals. 
The latter is of God, (so my adopted father told me), and is 
of so lofty and refined a nature that few can obtain, and 
none know how to value or enjoy it when permitted to em- 
brace it.” 

‘‘If one could embrace you, Tzella,” said Conrad — 
and he drew the young girl’s arm closer to his side — “ he 
would possess all there is to be enjoyed in this world per- 
taining to love.” 

“ I feel sure, sir, yet I cannot explain why, that what 
you said last is not true,” replied Tzella, — at which mo- 
ment, reaching the door of the hotel, she hurried to her 
chamber. 

“ Beautiful ! beautiful ! ” soliloquized Conrad ; “ and I 
must possess her. Chaste as Diana now, she is but poor, 
and will yield to the charms of wealth ; cool and spotless 
like the virgin snow, she will thaw before the ardor of my 
passion. I will go at once to her apartment, and though 
she may chide me for having broken my pledge, I will 
plead the fervor of my love, and will win her forgiveness ; ” 
and he ascended the stairs, ruminating on the nature of an 
apology, and not “ on his word as a man of honor.” 

Conrad had mistaken the character of the J^oung dcm- 
sense, and when he reached the door of her chamber, found 
it, much to his astonishment, fastened. He knocked, but 
no answer came ; he called, but there was no response. 
Tzella knew the voice, and, trembling with fear and mor- 


CEIMORA. 


303 


tification, sat, revolving in her mind the course best to bo 
pursued. She. had never been taught the modem doctrine 
of morality, but she had been endowed with such a fine 
sense of what was proper — such intuitive knowledge of 
the elements of refinement and good taste — that her spirit 
rebelled at once at the bare idea of any one’s approaching 
her but Avith truth on his lips, sincerity in his heart, and 
gentleness of demeanor — the birth-right of her sex. 

On the folloAvingday, Conrad met her at table, and treated 
her with marked respect — ashamed to refer to his attempts 
of the preceding night. In the evening he accompanied 
her to the theatre, returned home with her, talked to her 
as a sister, and again advanced a little in her confidence ; 
but there was still something in his manner which ahvays 
disturbed her, and she longed for the time when her en- 
gagement Avould end, and she could escape. The moment 
at last came. She had performed wonderfully well ; the 
manager had paid her, and tried to re-engage her. She 
refused all offers, though she expressed her grateful sense 
of the kindness that had been shoAvn to her, and returning 
to the hotel, she solicited the presence of Conrad in the 
public saloon. 

My dear sir,” said Tzella to the young man, I have 
this night received my salary, and I now Avish, according 
to agreement, to repay you for the outlay you made for 
me Avhen I Avas very destitute ; — Avhat Avas the sum ? ” 

Tzella, do not pain me by such a reference to the past 
— you OAve me nothing ; or, if you did owe me, I have 
been trebly paid -by your precious company, which I hope 
never to part Avith,” replied Conrad. 


04 


CRIMORA. 


“ Do not obliterate that pleasing perception I have of 
your goodness, I beg of you,” said Tzella. “ I must pay 
you, and to-morrow we must paii: ! ” 

“ Never, Tzella, never,” said Conrad, leaning forward 
and taking her firmly by the hand. “ I have given you 
money, raised you from the filth of the streets, and pro- 
cured for you both a name and the means of making a for- 
tune, and now you would cast me off like a thing not 
worthy of your notice. I will not endure it ; where you, 
go I will go, and you shall not escape me.” 

Forgive me, dear sir,” said Tzella, bursting into tears ; 
“ I did not mean to offend you. As Heaven is my witness, 
I feel grateful to you ; but I feel certain I must do as I 
have resolved, if I would respect myself.” 

‘‘ You do not love me then, Tzella,” said Conrad, in a 
changed tone. 

‘‘ I cannot love, if I cease to respect,” replied Tzella, 
with calmness. 

The young man flung her hand one side, and seizing his 
hat passed hastily from the room, muttering to himself — 
I’ll lay some trap to catch her yet. Everybody will 
laugh at me when they see that the bird I have so long 
boasted of as having caged, is well escaped.” 

When left alone, Tzella was not a moment in making up 
her mind. She hurried to her room, and donned her poor- 
est garments ; then put her best ones into a bundle, — with 
all the money she had earned, save a few francs, — and di- 
recting it to Conrad, stole from the hotel. ‘‘ Alone ! alone ! 
again in the wide world alone ! ” cried she, as she found 
herself at midnight traversing the streets of Havre. But she 
had resolved to escape, and she now hurried on in hopes to 


CRIMOKA . 


305 


reach, before daylight, some distant village, and thus elude 
the pursuit of one who was determined to destroy her. 

On the following morning, the package which Tzella had 
left was handed to the young Englishman. He examined 
the contents, and understood well what had happened. 
Too much mortified to remain longer in Havre, he set out 
for Paris. There, he thought, he might again meet with 
the beautiful Tzella, or, through the journals, learn of her 
whereabouts ; in which case he would renew the pursuit. 
He was for some time as unsuccessful as his schemes 
merited. 


26 


306 


CRIMORA . 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

We will not pretend to say what were the dreams of the 
divine Fanny and the young duke, but the first waking 
thoughts of the latter were all of the witching danseuse. 

I wonder how long she will remain here ? ” said he to 
himself ; I forgot to ask her. She favors my advances, 
yet is coy. She flies from me, even when her bright eyes 
beckon me to follow ; at least such foreshadows itself 
to me. She nuist know by my actions, my tell-tale 
silence in the carriage, that I love her ; and if the em- 
peror and empress countenance her visit they cannot 
think it improper for me to make advances even of a 
serious nature, though of course, in marriage they will 
expect me to be allied with imperial blood. I will at all 
events, entreat my grandsire to allow her to remain at 
Schonbrunn — for she is certainly an ornament to any 
circle however noble, and will make at least mt/ residence 
here a continual balmy morning. I wonder if she is yet 
up ? and he looked on to the spacious terrace back of the 
palace, where she was already enjoying the fragrance of 
the flowers, and the thousand beauties of art and nature 
which there charm the sight. As I live,” he exclaimed, 
she is there — and alone. Oh ! how stupid I have been 
to remain here, when all these moments might have been 


CRIMORA. 


307 


spent with her ! ’’ and hurrying on his garments, making 
his toilette with the utmost despatch, he hastened to the 
gardens. 

The youthful danseuse^ attired in an elegant morning 
robe, which allowed her luxurious form to bear itself in the 
unequalled grace of which it was the very type and perfec- 
tion, received the duke cordially but respectfully. 

I did not think I should be honored by your company, 
so early this morning,” said Fanny. 

If we could honor the lark by listening to its melodious 
matins,” replied Reichstadt, you might, perhaps, find 
an excuse for saying you were honored.” 

If I was too courteous to the noble Duke of Reich- 
stadt, he is too complimentary to the poor danseusej^ re- 
sponded Fanny, quickly, and with an air of embarrass- 
ment, while the ruddy glow the fresh air had given to her 
cheek made her truly captivating. 

The lateness of the hour in which I have joined you, 
I am well aware, gives little nerve to the confession I 
would make — that this has now become to me the garden 
of Eden,” said the youth. ' 

How so ? ” asked Fanny ; 1 certainly am not the 

first woman who has been here.” 

The first,” replied the duke, who, created after 
God’s own image, could make me disobey all higher com- 
mands to please her.” 

‘‘ Still generous with your compliments ! ” 

“ Eve was indeed complimented, when the stern partner 
of her new life, yielded to the eloquence of a tongue, whose 
power and sweetness could not have equalled yours.” 


308 


CRIMORA. 


‘‘ Ah, sir, you would try to make me vain — and being 
vain, become the game at which the world would fly its 
hawks of wit, to pick my feathers out, and bring me to the 
ground.” 

‘‘ Your fancy took a wayward flight then, indeed, and 
had it kept on at so wild a rate, would have needed more 
skill than I possess to make you earthly game, — had I the 
will to do so.” 

‘‘ But did I not speak the truth ? ” 

‘‘ If you had spoken only what you really tlionght^ you 
would, like all the angels, have spoken truth ; but speak- 
ing only what you feared, did me a great injustice.” 

“ Then pardon me, I pray, for I would be sincere with 
one who so much loves sincerity,” and the fair creature 
looked grieved. 

’Tis I who crave pardon, dear Madamoiselle. I do 
indeed love sincerity — love it as a rare plant — one 
that has no particular soil or climate ; I love it as a rare 
and precious jewel seldom glittering in coronets and crowns, 
but the ornament often of humble, lowly hearts. I love it 
as a stalwart plant that thrives not by artificial culture, but 
in the pure, untainted atmosphere, in broad, uncircuited 
fields, grows, expands, and adds beauty and value to its 
region.” 

Yonder summit,” said the fair girl, as if merely to 
change the subject, seems like a most lovely spot.” 

It is more than that,” replied the duke, for with 
the most enchanting view in the world which it commands, 
it combines the charm of solitude ; while in the temple 
which crowms the hill, are luxurious halls, and a library 
such as would befit even your refined taste. Shall we 
climb to it?” 


€IIIM0RA. 


309 


Oh, yes, with all my heart,’’ said Fannj^, in girlish 
glee; and away they Avent, happy as children among 
floAvers. 

The duke, on reaching the summit, Avas pale Avith 
fatigue, and sought rest by throwing himself on one of the 
rich lounges of the library ; Avhile the diAune danuvse^ 
AAuth cheeks more blooming than ever, tried to make him 
forget his Aveariness, by a pas seule. Could the purest 
stoic in the AA^orld have sat unmoved at such an exhibition ? 
I believe not ; and as Reichstadt Avas not wanting in sensi- 
bility, he sprang up, and clasping the sylphide about the 
Avaist, pressed her passionately to his bosom, and SAvore she 
should be all his OAvn. 

“ Generous duke,” said Fanny, withdraAving herself 
with proper self-respect, In homely phrase, ‘ it takes 
two to make a bargain ; ’ and though a duke must jest, or 
Avrong in intent a low-born girl by such a speech, I must 
claim your pardon that I blushed at a AvayAvard thought 
which stole into my brain — that you did love me,” 

And so, by heaven, I do, most noble girl ! Must Ave 
look to ancestors to find out if Ave are noble ? Who have 
you seen among the high-born princesses of the realm that 
surpasses you in any precious quality of head or heart ? 
But come and sit you near me, and let me hear you prove 
that you are not nobler than they are, or that I do not love 
you.” 

Perhaps it would grieve me more to prove Avhat you 
ask, than you are aAvare of ; though the task is an easy 
one. First — ” 

‘‘First and last,” said the duke, interrupting her, and 
gazing into her face Avith intense earnestness, “ say you 
will be mine.” 


310 


CRIMOR A. 


“ Scarcely a day you have known me, and yet you pro- 
pound so serious a question,” replied the girl. You can- 
not expect me to answer it now’. Time must pass ; the 
emperor and empress must know and countenance your 
designs. Name, title, lands, must be conferred upon me ; 
not for myself, but for your sake. A thousand preliminaries 
must be gone through with, ere I could consent to be 
raised to your high estate.” 

Titles I have not to give ; but my life is yours, and at 
my death, if w^e have no heirs, I will bequeath to you my 
estates. This very day the documents shall be drawm ; all 
shall be done to prove to you my Avords are true, my love 
unconquerable.” 

Why this haste, noble duke ? ” Give me time to 
think of that w’hich so bewilders me now. My joy Avould 
be too great ; I dare not trust myself to contemplate so 
much beatitude. Come, let us w^alk into the open air ; 
— to-morrow, w^e will talk more of this.” 

. For a long time they wandered about the grounds almost 
in silence, and finally turned their steps to the palace, each 
wishing to be alone, to contemplate the new^-found joys. 

Before the close of the day, the duke had made 
out such testamentary papers, as he knew w’ould satisfy 
the lady, in regard to property ; though he felt uncertain 
about her consenting to a secret marriage, which their rela- 
tive positions for the present required. 

On the following morning, the duke w\as with ‘‘ his in- 
tended,” in the library at the temple on the hill, where he 
presented her with a title to his estate^, and explained the 
nature of his position, w^hich precluded the possibility of a 
public marriage. He also most sacredly assured her^ 


C R I M 0 R A . 


311 


that when it was possible, their union should be solemnized 
in pubilc. 

The fair danseuse^ having obtained all that was desira- 
ble, — provided she could overcome the incipient love she 
bore the duke, or else kill him with her very love, — a task 
that would not, she thought, be difficult nor even pain- 
ful — I say, the fair danseuse^ having obtained, by his will, 
the important Val de Mazzara, had sufficient fondness for 
him not to urge too strenuously the other conditions she at 
^ first proposed ; and she* was more willing to concede them 
since the favor of the emperor and empress was in no wise 
compromised by the concession. 

This is very generous of you,’’ said the divine Fanny, 
and it all accords with that nobleness of heart it has 
been my constant pleasure to admire ; but I cannot yet 
gaze on that lofty eminence to which you would lift me, 
without becoming dizzy, faint, and all too womanly. 
Spare me yet awhile — give me a few days to dream of 
my approaching bliss.” 

Adored Fanny, you -cannot biit forgive my haste, I 
know ; for should I not pay your matchless charms a 
meagre compliment, if, while gazing on them, my soul did 
not cry out for their possession ? Standing here, I might 
become like those poor pilgrims who, exhausted, reaching 
the summit of the mount that overlooks the land of 
promise, lie down and die.” 

Ah, kind sir, do not plead with me further. Believe 
my ivill is to make you happy ; and if sacrificing my poor 
self could shed one gleam of sunshine along the path of 
the noble son of the most illustrious of sires, it would be 
an abundant reward.” 


312 


CRIMORA. 


The duke, no longer doubtful, folded the trembling, 
yielding form of the beautiful girl to his own bosom, and 
began that life of luxury, — that drinking of a rich and 
bountiful cup of love, which proved a poison unto death. 


CBIMORA. 


313 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

As a faint streak of light began to tinge the eastern 
horizon, Tzella found herself in the suburbs of a little 
village. There she sat down to rest herself, and await 
the hour for the opening of the shops, when she could 
procure something to eat to resuscitate her exhausted 
frame. The excitement under which she traversed the 
many dusty miles that now lay between her and the great 
town — the feeling that she was flying from ruin, (a sacri- 
fice there was no love to sanctify and render less painful 
than death) — had sustained her ; but now her i?ctle feet 
were bleeding, her limbs trembling, her head and heart 
heavy, and when the sun w^as high up, she was awakened 
from a sound sleep by the rough voice of a paysari. 

‘‘ Out late last night, my pretty Mademoiselle ! I 
think you should have a better place to sleep in, though 
not one of the nobility.’’ 

“ I knew not that I was so weary,” replied Tzella. “ I 
only sat down to wait till I could get something to eat 
from the cafeJ^^ 

The good man was pleased with her sweet address, and 
at once conducted her to a restaurant, where some dry 
bread and hard cheese were given to her, on the supposition 
27 


314 


CRIMORA. 


that she was a beggar. When, however, she gave the 
proprietor a gold coin, he brought out his best wine and 
treated her with the utmost obsequiousness. 

The kindness shown to her for money, and that from 
the dictates of a charitable heart, Tzella repaid by many 
thanks, and resumed her journey. After travelling several 
miles the dilligence came up, and as her feet were again 
bleeding, she entreated the postillion to take her up to the 
next village ; but the doors were fastened, she probably 
had no money, and perhaps no passport, and these 
reasons, just or not, were considered sufficient7 by the one 
appealed to, to exclude her. 

Not yet disheartened, the poor girl walked on, and after 
accomplishing a league or two more, she came to a cross 
erected on a rock in which there was a niche containing 
an image of the Virgin, who, with hands folded on her 
bosom, was looking with tearful, suppliant eyes towards 
heaven. This was a refreshing sight to the weary wan- 
derer. She approached it softly, as if afraid to disturb the 
holy mother’s devotion, and kneeled down in silence before 
it. Raphael, with his inspired pencil, never painted a 
Madonna with a more lofty impress of beauty, loveliness, 
and piety, than was in the face of this new worshipper. 

While Tzella kneeled by the wayside, she little imagined 
there was a human being on the face of the wide earth 
who was thinking of her ; but there were several. During 
her engagement at Havre the public presses teemed with 
most extravagant praise of her powers, her grace, her 
beauty ; and this had reached every quarter of tfte conti- 
nent — so that at the moment she was folding her hands 
in prayer, the manager of the^ Theatre Francaise, in Paris, 


CRIMORA. 


815 


was folding a letter prolfering to her a most favorable 
engagement if she would come to the capital-; and the 
Empress of Austria had just given orders to have a courier 
despatched to bring her to Vienna. 

The letter of'the French manager remained uncalled for 
at the post, but the courier from Vienna having definite 
instructions, felt bound to see the English prodigy. He 
accordingly, by strict inquiries, learned of her hotel, and 
there, of her sudden disappearance ; and at the office of the 
diligence, that a young and interesting person had been 
seen on such a day on such a road. On this road, then,- 
he started, and from the different villages heard of her 
and the direction she took, and so traced her to Amiens, 
Valenciennes, Namur, Leige, arid Cologne, where, in one 
of the squares, he found her dancing to an idle populace, 
who gave her much praise and a few sous. 

My beautiful girl,” said the courier, in rather broken 
English, ‘‘ you dance too well to be wasting yourself on 
these boors. Why don’t you go on to the stage ? ” 

I was, sir, on the stage, and was well paid ; but then 
I gave all my money to a person who had supplied me 
when I was very poor.” 

But why did you not continue at Havre, where, I 
hear, you met with good success ? ” 

I hardly know, myself, sir. Yet I know that I pre- 
ferred to go away and wander alone, than have forced 
upon me the society of one whom I feared and disliked.” 

Would you not like a good engagement, now, at 
Vienna?” 

“ Where is that, sir ? ’’ 


816 


C RIM OR A. 


“ It is far from here ; yet the queen, hearing of your 
many excellent qualities, desires you to come to her, and 
promises you a kind reception.” 

‘‘You must be mistaken in the person, sir ? ” 

“Are you not Tzella, the English StellcuBianca?^^ 

“ They have called me so.” 

“No one could ever mistake you. Your strange com- 
plexion, your large eloquent eyes, leave a lasting impres- 
sion wherever they are seen.” 

“ But how does the queen know anything of me ? ” 

“ She has seen you heralded in all the French papers 
as the most accomplished in Spanish dances of any«one 
who has ever appeared on the stage.” 

“ And shall I be treated well, if I consent to go ? ” 
“’You shall, upon my honor, while you are under my 
care ; afterwards it will depend on your own discretion.” 

“ I will go.” 

“ Here, then, is money to procure you suitable gar- 
ments ; and when you have them, and are in readiness, 
leave word at the Hotel Cologne, and in an hour after, we 
wdll be en route for the most beautiful city in the world. 
Adieu, but do not be long in letting me hear from you.” 

After a tedious journey, which Tzella thought would 
never end, she was greatly delighted in finding herself 
one morning, whirled along the beautiful streets of the 
Austrian capital. Landed at the great hotel, “ Estate 
Frankfort,” where splendid apartments were immediately 
procured for her, she felt that she was in a trance, or that 
some fairies had taken the direction of her afiairs. 

A few hours after Tzella’s arrival, the directeur of the 
theatre was announced. He inquired concerning the 


CRIMOR A. 


817 


dances sHe could appear in, and what wardrobe she had. 
He informed her of the necessity of the latter being very 
rich, and proposed to advance the necessary funds to 
procure them, while his offer for an engagement of thirty 
nights, was liberal in the extreme. 

Tzella’s career seemed now to be opening before her with 
a splendid vista, and if nothing interfered to mar her present 
prospects, she would accomplish all that she desired, and 
be as happy as any mortal could without friends, or home, 
or country, and nothing to fall back upon save her beauty 
and talents. 

- The first night the young English dameuse appeared, 
she elicited great applause, — the second night more, the 
third still more, and finally such enthusiasm and frenzy, 
that had the capital fallen to ruins it would not have buried 
this universal topic. The walls of Schonbrunn were not 
thick enough to keep from the young duke and the divine 
Fanny, (who spent their time there together,) the report 
of the new danseuse^s fame, which hung like a fair garland 
around the town. 

On several nights of the English girl’s performance, 
Reichstadt had made an excuse for being absent from the 
palace. This, with the jealousy that would naturally spring 
up of a rival in the art of which she had ever been the 
empress, pierced the Austrian with unspeakable anguish, 
and forced her into many resolves. First, she would again 
appear on the stage. Secondly, she would withdraw 
her rival from the public by the same arts that had been 
practised on herself ; and if it could be done through the 
same agent, might hasten the designs of the imperial family 
— designs which, perhaps, were in their thoughts when 
27 * 


318 


C m M 0 R A . 


they invited the foreign beauty to the capital. Yet, with 
a naturally good and tender heart, she could not make up 
her mind to injure the fair creature who had not inten- 
tionally done her the least harm. 

The empress had none of the scruples which affected the 
fair consort of the duke, and at once determined to make of 
Tzella the same tool she had made of another, in prostrating 
the few remaining energies of her husband’s grand-child. 
The new theatrical star was accordingly invited to Schon- 
brunn, where she was presented to the duke, and submit- 
ted to the test of his charms, while, under some pretext, 
Fanny’s presence was required for aday or two at a distant 
villeita. Hearts are not bought ! They are involuntary 
gifts, or are to be doubted ! The duke made but little pro- 
gress, for there was something in Tzella’s face, expression, 
bearing, that Avas above his comprehension. He looked at 
her with the same adoration he would have the Madonna, 
and he Avould as soon have contemplated the seduction of the 
Virgin Mother herself, as uttering an impure thought in 
the lovely girl’s presence. 

Though I am fascinated and bound as by a spell,” said 
the duke, “ by the unfading beauties of that exquisite 
creature who has just left us, yet, more beautiful Tzella, I 
feel that for the first time I micerely love.” 

“ And Avho, sir, may I ask, is the person ? ” said Tzella, 
with carelessness. 

There is but one here, and she is the one,” replied the 
duke. 

“ Flattery, sir, does not become your station nor mine,” 
replied the girl with dignity. 


ORIMORA. 


319 


If I do flatter when I speak the trtuh/’ said the duke, 
‘‘ then do I flattter now. The one of whom I have spoken, 
I bought ” — (and he did her great injustice in this remark, 
for he knew nothing of the mighty influence that had been 
brought to bear on the victim) — ay, with my wealth. 
The beautiful ^ Val de Mazzara,’ passing through an 
enemy’s country, as it is here called, and opening on the 
more beautiful bay of Genoa, I gave to her. Titles, too, 
are to be hers, and what is more — my name. Without 
these she would not have been mine, and — ” 

“ And, sir, what have I to do with this ? ” asked Tzella, 
with much surprise. 

‘‘ Pardon me. Mademoiselle,” replied the duke, evi- 
dently mortified, I told you this, to show to you the 
habitudes of courts, and by exposing them, express to 
you my conviction of the exaltedness of your otvn charac- 
ter — a character sustained by a rectitude more priceless 
than the Indies ; that cannot be swayed by aught but the 
most refined and exalted affection — the affection I would 
lay at your feet.” 

“ I do not understand you, sir,” responded Tzella, with 
some embarrassment. 

Then it is because you do not love me,” said Reich- 
stadt, sorrowfully. 

I am but a poor girl, sir ; a beggar to-day, a courted 
and caressed dansense to-morrow, but still uneducated and 
poor, — an orphan, without a name or home ; but, sir, I 
think real love is not of so sudden a growth. The rich 
treasures of the mines lie deep and are conformations 
which only long years could have effected. You will order 
my carriage, if you please.” 


S20 


CRIMORA. 


And will you not remain with us longer ? ” asked the 
duke, with much earnestness. 

I thank you, sir, but I cannot,” replied Tzella, rising 
to prepare herself to depart. 

‘‘May I have the pleasure of accompanying you?” 
persisted the duke still more earnestly. 

“You must excuse me, sir — I thank you for the 
honor,” (and had she not been a pure and simple child of 
nature, one would have thought this last word was 
emphasized in scorn) — “ but the servant knows well my 
hotel, and will take me there safely. Did you order the 
carriage, sir ? ” 


CRIMORA. 


321 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

The Duke be Reichstadt, rebuffed by tlie poor English 
girl, turned with more zest to his divine Fanny, while 
Tzella, feeling that she was surrounded by dreadful pitfalls, 
without a friend to counsel her, a father to whom she could 
fly for comfort, support and direction, reached her hotel 
almost distracted, resolving to depart instantly for — 
somewhere, where she would find people whom she could 
trust and love. On the following day, without even wait- 
ing to collect her money, taking only the little that had 
been left from the first sums given to her by the directeurj 
she procured her passport and started for the south. The 
diligence was full ; no one looked kindly on her ; she was 
again a vagrant. She, however, only felt anxious to be 
away, — urged by some strange impulse of which she had 
not the key. It was not exactly flying a city filled with 
the plague, but the flying towards more genial spirits. 

Wearied with a long journey, Tzella finally reached 
Trieste, where, her money being gone, she was again 
obliged to dance in the public streets. This never failing 
resource, and perhaps the hardships she had suffered, gave 
her a kind of independence that rather encouraged than 
rebuked her peculiar indifference to monetary affairs. On 
the second day, she encountered a party of Englishmen, 


322 


C R I M 0 K A . 


who, having a vessel bound to Venice, offered her a free 
passage. Trusting them as her countrymen, she accepted 
their courteous invitation ; but meeting the same treatment 
that had so deeply wounded her elsewhere, she again fled, 
nor hardly rested on her way westward till she reached 
Milan. 

• It is needless to say that the poor Tzella suffered. Few 
could have endured what she did, and live ; but in her 
there was an intensity of high feeling, something that 
would have made her drink of the very cup of bitterness the 
Saviour drank of, and have added no more than “ Thy 
will be done, not mine ; ’’ and when any trial came, when 
the most seductive of influences filled the air she breathed, 
she unharmed passed through them, and shook off their 
taintings as Paul did the viper that came from the fire and 
fastened on his hand. 

With the beautiful city of Milan, Tzella was greatly 
pleased, and having received much encouragement, thought 
of making an engagement at the theatre ; but, on looking 
from her window, who should she see but her Havre ac- 
quaintance, Conrad. More alaimed than ever, she dis- 
guised herself all she possibly could, and instantly fled 
from the town, and began again her wanderings on foot. 
Poor Tzella ! Thy own delicate sensibility was a father and 
friend to thee, in so far as it warned thee of evil,' but it 
gave thee little of paternal guardianship and protection ! 

Like a sad maniac, as all who'met her thought her to 
be, Tzella strolled from town to town, from field to field, 
from house to house. Sometimes she slept by the way- 
side, sometimes on the floor of poor hovels of the paysam ; 
and sometimes was a whole day without food. One evening 


CRIMORA. 


323 


she found herself in a beautiful valley, whose verdant 
slopes and wooded and rugged walls gave it a picturesque- 
ness which filled her with unbounded delight. She tra- 
versed it for a great distance, when suddenly, with a laugh 
of wild joy, she sprang towards a large rock that jutted out 
from the side of the mountain, and throwing her arms 
upon it, as though she would embrace its rugged form, 
kissed it fervently. 

We will not say that poor Tzella was not now a maniac ; 
it would be strange indeed were she not so ; for, driven 
from the face of man by his infamy, and made to wander, 
weary and starving, without one noble heart to sympathise in 
her joys or sorrows, angels or some power more than human 
must haVe given peace and sustenance to her soul to have 
left even one golden gleam of reason, one ray of a bow 
of promise ” to her naturally strong, her singularly pure 
intellect. Her present conduct, however, was caused by 
other emotions than Such as flit in dusky images around 
the brain of a maniac. That stone recalled in an instant 
all those years of real happiness she passed with her adopt- 
ed father in the mines of Cuba, for it was a beautiful blue 
malachite — its crystals shooting up as clear and bright as 
the great arch above ; it was a rich and beautiful specimen 
of copper ore, which she had been so early taught particu- 
larly to designate, and on which had depended her very 
existence. 

The rich cropping out’^ of ore on the surface induced 
the fair wanderer to examine more attentively the neigh- 
boring ground, which in every direction revealed to her 
intelligent scrutiny, indications of great mineral wealth. 
She followed the line of a' vein far down into the valley. 


324 


C R I M 0 R A . 


where night gathered its mantle about her. She then threw 
herself on to the rocky bed — a metallic couch which she 
many a time happily contemplated — and through exhaus- 
tion, — fainting rather than sleeping, — in an instant forgot 
that she ever existed. Oh, to the sorrowing heart how 
blessed is forgetfulness ! 

Heavy thunder rolled along the mountain tops and 
echoed in the valley, but the fair girl heard it not. The 
rain poured in torrents, but the tired wanderer felt it not. 
The light of morning came, and gently stole over the eye- 
lids of the lovely sleeper, but she saw it not. The seraphic 
spirit of the homeless Tzella was ready to wing its way 
from its frail tenement, when a young man, hand in hand 
with a lovely maiden, came along, followed by a flock of 
sheep. 

“ A murder ! a murder ! ” exclaimed the youth, rushing 
towards the unconscious arid prostrate form of the poor 
stranger. 

‘‘ No, no, I trust not ! ” said the rnontuna^ but some 
weary traveller whom we can soon restore ; ” and with her 
lover she hastened forw^ard, and gave her aid in raising the 
frail creature, who appeared to them, at first, to be quite 
dead. ‘‘ Her hands, her forehead are very cold, but here,” 
continued she, placing her hand within the dress of the 
sufferer, while the warm tears were gushing from her own 
eyes — ‘^here is yet warmth, and we can save her — yes, 
thank heaven, we can save her ! ” 

Then quick, let us hasten back with her to the cot- 
tage,” said the young man, where our good mother will 
know what to do for her ; ” and with his powerful arm he 
bore her away as if she had been a thing of straw. 


CRIMORA. 


825 


Rubbed witli warm flannels, bathed with warm spirits, 
nourishment administered to her in the most tender man- 
ner, the houseless, rescued one began fii'st to be conscious 
of the sounds of friendly voices, and then that she was the 
object of the solicitude of persons whom she hnew not. 
Finally, she opened her eyes, and looked a gratitude she 
had not the power to utter,’ but which filled with enviable 
joy every heart in the humble dwelling. 

Vfe understand you,’’ said the montuna — no other 
than Saffi herself — and we do not ask any thanks till 
you are quite recovered. Rest calfuly and securely till 
to-morrow, and then if you feel well enough and would like, 
you may tell me how you were lo^t in this valley, and 
vvhat we poor people can do for you.” Tzella, from know- 
ing Spanish, understood the purport of Safii’s words, and 
taking the hand of the kind speaker, she pressed it warmly 
to her lips. 

Carlo,” said Saffi, turning to the young man, who still 
stood near, deeply anxious to know the history of the fair 
creature he had assisted in saving, there being something 
in her face that seemed to ’him strangely associated with 
his early life ; Carlo, I must ask you to go alone to-day 
to the pastures, for I would remain here till this poor girl 
is better. In a few days I hope father will be well enough 
to take our places as shepherds ; then you can stay here 
with me, and assist me in my garden and among my vines.” 

I will go,” replied her lover, but the day will be a 
long one which finds you not by my side.” 

“ I hope it will always be so,” replied Saffi, in one of 
her sweetest smiles, while Charles Wellington, gently 
pressing her hand, bade her aiiieu till evening. 

28 


326 


CRIMORA. 


Every moment of the whole day SaflEi devoted to her 
patient, between whom and herself there had spung up the 
kindliest of sympathies and the warmest friendship. Most 
of the time, the gentle paysanne sat on the side of the bed, 
watching the angel-like expression of the face before her, 
and guessing at the sufferer’s wants, which, as far as she was 
able, she promptly satisfied. Before night came, however, 
Tzella was able to communicate a little to her benefactress, 
who now, more than delighted, and still warning her to be 
careful and not exert herself till the following day, ques- 
tioned and listened. • 

Charles, having gained the pasture to which the fleecy 
troop had preceded him, sat down and pondered on the 
features of the beautiful girl he had saved from death. 
He went over his whole life from beginning to end, re- 
viewed it and re-reviewed it, but always with the same 
result, which w^as — a moral certainty that she had had 
something to do with his early life, but where or how was 
but the vaguest of conjectures. When he returned to the 
cottage he regarded her with the intensest scrutiny 
without further elucidating the mystery ; but on the fol- 
lowing morning when she awoke, able to talk and even 
sit up in bed, the whole thing burned itself into his brain 
as if it had been a flash of lightning. She is the victim 
of my cruelty ! ” he cried, and, reeling from the cottage, 
rushed into the forest and hid himself. How great now 
was his agony ! He felt that the fair creature had been sent 
by heaven to stamp upon his forehead the brand of Cain, 
to wither his heart, to blast his reputation, to crush his 
hopes. She had the power, and he believed she would use 
it, to convince liis Saffi that he was a villain. This he 


CRIMOR A. 


327 


could not endure, and when night came he returned to the 
city. Finding a vessel ready to sail (he cared not 
whither) on the following morning, he oflFered himself as a 
sailor, to work his passage gratis to any port to which they 
might be bound ; and in a few hours, was on his way to 
Sicily. 

Charles Wellington had not given himself time to think; 
but when conscious that he was where he could not, even 
if occasion offered, prostrate himself before his beloved and 
explain all, he grew frantic and would have leaped into the 
sea, had his design not been seasonably frustrated. On 
arriving at Messina it was necessary to confine him in the 
hospital for the insane, where, for a few weeks, he knew 
not himself. When his reason returned, and he began to 
consider how fatal to his happiness his present course wp^s, 
he resolved immediately to revisit the Val de Mazzara, 
and die at the feet of his Saffi, or regain her favor. 


328 


CRIMOR A. 


[CHAPTER XL. 

Saffi noted the manner in which her betrothed left the 
cottage, yet had not the remotest idea of the cause ; nor 
did she suppose he would he long absent ; but when night 
came and he did not return — when morning came, and no 
Carlo presented himself, and when another night and still 
another morning succeeded, and still no dear . Carlo — her 
fears assumed a fatal mastery over her. She was no longer 
the Saffi, the guileless, happy Saffi, we have heretofore seen 
her, but was like one dumb, one not of this world, pale, 
emaciated^ abstracted ; and taking the place on the bed 
lately occupied by the invalid Tzella — who now in her 
turn became nurse and comforter — sank, to all appear- 
ances, beyond mortal aid. 

Seeing their dear child so ill, Saffi’s father and mother, 
who had always depended much on her, grew weary of 
life ; and neglecting their several duties, opened the door 
to poverty and jnisery. The angel, however, those poor 
people had entertained, shed a divine light through the 
cottage. Her abundant faith, her hallowed aspirations, 
her tender solicitude, her earnest service, supported the 
aged, and soon raised the drooping Saffi from the borders 
of the grave, and left the bow of hope arching over the 
fortilage of resignation. 


CRIMORA. 


329 


Tzella no longer thought of herself ; her preservers were 
all, in all, above all. She would have deemed her life but 
a poor sacrifice if it could have rendered them happy. But 
there were so many circumstances entirely beyond her 
control, that after her thoughts had ascended to heaven in 
fervid pleadings, she would always add — Thy will be 
done, not mine.” 

Saffi, I have said, was resigned ; but it was rather a 
resignation to death than life. For Tzella, however, she 
formed an immeasurable attachment, and it was the new 
cord which bound her to earth ; but this new-found friend 
could not be always with her ; in fact, the time had already 
come when she was to bid them all a long farewell. 

- “ God bless you,” said Tzella, as she embraced the good 
people with whom she had spent many memorable weeks ; 
“ I must now leave you — something whispers it to my 
heart.” 

“ Do not abandon us, we pray you,” said Bolaro, in a 
tone of earnest entreaty. II Signor Carlo, on whom Ave 
somewhat depended for support in our old age, has now 
left us, we know not why, and taken Avith him the life of 
our daughter. We are thus doubly bereft; so do remain 
with us, and all that our poor hands can gain for you shall 
be yours. Our hut is miserable, but we will try and make 
you comfortable, for I feel that in you there is a preserv- 
ing virtue, a sanctity that will bring a blessing on our roof, 
and make glad this ‘ Val de Mazzara.’ ” 

“ Val de Mazzara ! ” exclaimed Tzella. 

‘‘Yes, fair child, this is%the ‘ Val de Mazzara,’ ” said 
Bolaro. 


28 


330 


C R I M 0 R A . 


Whose property is this ^Val cle Mazzara ? ’ ’’ asked 
Tzella, in trepidation. 

I know not,” responded Bolaro ; but why are you 
thus excited ? ” 

“ It awakens in my mind a shameful proposition, which, 
in reality, drove me as you know to the brink of the 
grave.” 

“ Try then and forget it, good daughter. All I know 
of the' ownership of this tract of country, I have recently 
learned. My brother, it is said, returning rich from the 
wars of Spain, placed me here to take charge of it ; and 
from documents recently brought to light, it ^vould appear 
he had died and left it to my daughter, who, poor thing, I 
fear, will never live to enjoy it.” 

Where are those documents ? ” asked Tzella, with im- 
patience ; for I know that these lands .are even the bonds 
of strange bargains, and may be made w'orse use of than 
they can be were they yours ? ” 

Carlo brought them with him from England,” said 
Saffi, suddenly starting up from a long, silent repose ; 
‘‘ and he has taken them with him, and Avill not return.” 

And wdiat were they ? ” inquired Tzella. 

Titles to this estate, and much other -property,” re- 
plied Saffi ; and .Carlo said that my uncle died — was 
murdered, as he thinks — and affirms that these very doc- 
uments Tvere stolen by a Mr. Smithers.” ; 

‘‘ Smithers ! ” exclaimed Tzella, ‘^ Smithers ! That 
name recalls my childish days, and if it is the one I often 
heard mentioned, then you may believe anything ; for he 
was always regarded by mother Wellington as a fiend.” 


C RIMORA. 


S31 


Wellington ! ” echoed Saffi, in her turn ; why do you 
call her mother ? That was Carlo’s mother,” 

Carlo’s mother? ” echoed Tzella, slowly, thoughtfully, 
as though from afar there was stealing into her mind the 
solemn melody of a sacred truth. 

‘‘ Yes,” continued SaflS ; and it was his mother who 
told him about the documents, and how’ she believed 
Smithers came to have them.” 

But they are not here,” said Tzella, sadly. Oh, 
would that they were here, — for I believe it all true that 
you tell me ; and if they w^ere in your possession, I think 
we might save the property from foreign hands.” 

‘‘ Foreign hands ? ” exclaimed Bolaro. 

Yes, — and now a new thought strikes me,” said 
Tzella, looking as though she had been commissioned by 
Jieaven to do a great deed ; and I will away at once. 
I will seek for your Carlo, as you call him, and if I do not 
find him, I can yet keep from their hands ” — and she was 
now" talking to herself — this lovely spot ; for if the law"S 
here are like the Spanish, this mineral land will be claimed 
by the government. Farewell, dear friends ; I have a new 
life before me. I see vdiere I can serve, and that makes 
me happy. Be cheerful, and I will see you again ; ” and 
she hurried on her hat, and ^ before there was time to ask 
an explanation, she had flow"n from the cottage, and was 
already on he.r way to obey the behests of her generous 
spirit. 

When Tzella reached the city it had began to grow dark, 
so she crouched down in Or corner of the great arch under 

Aqua /S'oZa,” and passed there the night. The following 
day she spent in the streets of Genoa, along the Banqui, 


332 


CRIMOR A. 


and the port, in fruitless search for Wellington. Towards 
evening, growing faint, she was obliged to beg. Her 
voice, manner, dress, all showed she was not one of the 
lazaroni^ and attracting the attention of the police, was 
taken before a higher commumrio^ w^here the story of her 
mission was related. This was of so extraordinary a nature, 
that it was at once reported to the governor, who ordered 
the young stranger before him. 

“ Do not be alarmed, my fair child,” said the dignitary, 
in a mild tone, as Tzella approached, pale and trembling, 
though trembling as much from w^eakness as fear, “ for we 
have not summoned you here as a criminal, but as one who 
is good and benevolent, and has a truthful story to tell.” 

‘‘ Pero Senor^ Jo no puedo hablar Italiano hastante^^^ 
commenced Tzella. 

‘‘ Ah^ lei es JEspanol? ” said the governor. 

No, senor, English,” replied Tzella. 

Send for Signor Fiello Alfierdermo, who speaks Eng- 
lish perfectly,” said the governor to one of his aids, for 
it appears that this girl is English instead of Spanish ; and 
though she evidently understands much of our language, 
she cannot converse fluently enough to explain all I wish 
to know.” 

Tzella remained standing for a while, but at last her 
strength gave way ; everything grew dark before her, and 
she would have fallen on the floor, had not one of the at- 
tendants caught her. The governor was mortified that he 
had not been more mindful of the delicacy of the gentle 
creature, and now gave his personal attention to seeing 
that she was properly cared for. Wine, fruits and cake 
were brought to her, and by the time the interpreter had 
arrived, she had fully recovered. 


GRIM ORA. 


283 


In the dimly lighted chamber, Signor A Ifierdermo could 
not distinguish the features of the fair Tzella, but the mo- 
ment she began to speak the language in which he had 
listened to the first accents of love, his heart throbbed with 
uncontrolable violence, and,’^ for some' moments, made the 
proceedings indefinite. He begged her, however, to relate 
her whole story, w^hich he promised faithfully to interpret 
to the governor. 

Do not ask me, sir, I pray,’’ said Tzella, to tell you 
how I became as I am. It is enough that I am poor and 
without parents or home ; but do not let these trifles 
prevent your believing my words, for I speak for one 
who saved me from death, and who is dearer to me — far, 
far dearer to me — than life itself. In the V al de Mazzara 
lives poor Bolaro. He has a daughter, young, surpassing 
lovely, and good like the angels ; but she is now ill, and I 
■ fear, unless something is done for her, will go to the grave ; 
this will kill her worthy parents. When I was arrested I 
was trying to aid thos^ good people — I was trying to find 
the lover of my sweet friend Saffi ; for, if he should return, 
Saffi would again be happy. Besides, if what they told 
me is true, he has documents which entitle her, by the 
death of her uncle in London, to the beautiful valley in 
which she lives, and to other property held illegally by one 
Smithers.” 

Smithers ! ” exclaimed Alfierdermo, almost gasping for 
breath ; what thrilling associations this voice and that 
name awaken ! But go on.” 

I have only to add, sir, that if these documents are 
legal ones, there is probably some treachery in Vienna ; for 
I know that this property has been transferred by the 


234 


CRIMORA. 


Duke de Reichstadt to the fair danseuse^ known as the 
divine Fanny. Now, sir, allowing this to be true, why 
cannot the government take possession of the valley, till 
this claim of Bolaro is proved ? Do not all mineral lands, 
as in Spain by Spanish law, belong to the Crown ? ’’ 

• ‘‘ Yes,’’ responded Signor Alfierdermo, “ but that is not 
mineral land.” 

You mistake, sir ; it is the richest in the world. From 
the mountain side down into the gorge west, there crops 
out a vein of copper ore, as perfect and splendid as ever 
gladdened the eye of a miner ; ” and here Tzella’s enthu- 
siasm was almost carrying her off. 

‘‘ And how do you know this ? how do you know any- 
thing of copper ores ? ” asked the interpreter, more deeply 
interested than ever. 

Pardon, sir, my earnestness ; for that subject recalls 
the happiest years of my life, — years in the mines of 
Cuba, where I found a good friend who became as a father 
to me, because I was attentive and learned quickly to dis- 
tinguish the ores among which my lot was cast.” 

Signor Alfierdermo interpreted the whole strange story 
to the governor, who, highly gratified, ordered some money 
to be given to her, with a request that she should return 
at the same hour on the following day. 

For a moment, poor Tzella’s heart rebelled at the 
thought of taking money for serving the cause of Saffi ; 
but her necessities demanded the sacrifice, while mortified 
feelings flushed her cheek with beauty as she left the 
palace. 


CRIMORA. 


335 


CHAPTER XLI. 

Tzella, having told her story, thought much less of re- 
turning to the palace of the governor, than of finding the 
possessor of the important documents ; and having spent 
the night with a poor woman to whom she gave a few 
soldi^ recommenced her search. No crusader ever set out 
on his march towards the Holy Land with more faith and 
devotion, than did this fair English girl on her enterprise 
de la corazon^ and learning almost at her first inquiry that 
a young man, answering to the description given of Wel- 
lington, had left on the previous day for Florence, she, 
without a moment’s hesitation, started for the Tuscan 
capital. 

Before Tzella had left the town, an order had been d^ 
spatched to the Val de Mazzara by the governor, to have 
Saffi brought to his presence*; and though it was not 
represented that there was any accusation against her, her 
poor parents were dismayed, and, with anxious hearts, 
accompanied her. Saffi’s story went to coroborate all that 
Tzella had said ; besides, she was able to tell much more 
about Smithers, which she had learned from Wellington 
himself. The information she communicated concerning the 
wily Englishman was considered to be of some moment ; 
so much so, that it led the governor to request Signor 
Alfierdermo to write to London, and obtain all the facts of 


336 


CIIIMORA. 


the case he could, and in the mean time keep an eje on 
the informers. 

Alfierdermo entered on his duties with a zeal none un- 
derstood ; but the name of Smithers had aroused in his 
heart such a tumult — the whole affair had so strangely 
blended itself with his every feeling — that he seemed 
the spirit of unrest. He despatched the necessary letters 
to London, and then, as Tzella had not returned to the 
palace at the appointed hour, sent numerous servants 
abroad in search of her. 

Days and weeks passed, without tidings of Tzella or of 
Wellington. In the mean time, Alfierdermo, desirous of 
learning still more of this curious affair, and at the mismo 
tempo have it in his power to watch the movements of the 
gentle Safii, urged her to remain in his family, as a nurse 
for his invalid father. This, at first, was opposed by the 
parents ; but as^ he gave to them a pledge of honor that she 
should be Avell treated and paid, and her interests strictly 
and honorably attended to as regarded the property re- 
ferred to in, the missing documents, they consented. 

With but little hope, dispirited and lonely, Saffi’s father 
and mother returned to their cottage, while she, surround- 
ed by the splendor and luxuries of the town, regained her 
former cheerful and happy aspect. One day, after an age 
or a weary month had passed, when riding out along the 
bastions with the invalid, who should she meet but Charles 
Wellington! — her long lost Carlo, now the very picture 
of despair. Did he see her ? Yes. He recognized her, 
and believing, from the position she now occupied, that 
she ^ was lost to him, his head fell upon his breast, and lean- 
ing against the parapet for support, forgot himself and the 


CRIMORA. 


837 


world. Saffi cried to the driver to stop, and, springing 
from the carriage, hastened to her lover. 

Carlo ! Carlo! my dear, mj caro amico ! she ex- 
claimed. “ What is the matter ? Why have, you deserted 
me ? What have I done to make you hate me ? Tell me, 
dear Carlo ; ” and she put her hand on his shoulder, and 
bent down so that she could gaze into his face. 

Hate you^ Saffi ? ’’ said Wellington, the kind and ten- 
der words of his loved one rousing him from the state of 
stupefaction, into which his great grief and the effects of 
his late illness had for a moment cast him ; it is you 
who must hate 

^‘No, no. Carlo! do not say so, nor think so. I am all 
yours ; believe me, and come and see me in the Strada 
Nuova at the casa de Aljierdermo, Say you will, for I 
must now leave you.” 

I will,” said Wellington, trying to look happy. 

‘‘ Adio^^! was Saffi’s hasty reply ; and, in an instant, 
regained her seat in the carriage. 

You must pardon me,” said Saffi to the invahd, for 
that is the person whom your son so anxiously seeks, and 
he promises to come to see him*” 

‘‘ And will he come ? ” asked the invalid. 

‘‘ He has said it, and h^ will come,” was Saffi’s trusting, 
confident reply ; and a half an hour had not elapsed after 
their return home, before Wellington was relating his his- 
tory and that of the documents to eager listeners — Signor 
Fiello and la bella Saffi. 

‘‘ Perhaps you do not believe me,” said Wellington to 
Signor Alfierdermo ; but, sir, so help me heaven, it is 
true. I was once bad, sir, I know ; but circumstances 
29 


338 


CRIMORA. 


made me so ; and if I had murdered the man who mur- 
dered my mother by sufferings he forced upon her a mil- 
lion times more cruel than could have been the quick steel 
of the assassin, I should have indeed been called a mur- 
derer, but my conscience would not have echoed it. Dis- 
owned^ thrust out upon an inhospitable world, abandoned to 
the temptations of the poor and wretched, I was the vilest 
of the vile ; but years of suffering in a strange land, where 
I had time to reflect on my course of conduct, changed 
my heart, my longings, and my purposes ; and when I saw 
this pure and lovely ‘ lily of the valley ’ I had but one 
aspiration — that of devoting my life to goodness and to 
her.’’ 

But why then did you desert her — carrying off her 
property, and almost destroying her whom you had sworn 
to love,” asked Alfierdermo. 

Solely from the fear that she would cast me off,” replied 
Charles, much affected ; “ for, when Tzella came to the 
cottage, I recognized her as the child my mother had 
charge of, and whom I often kicked and abused, and who, 
through my infamous plottings, was sent to the mines of 
Cuba, where, never having heard of her, we supposed she 
died. I thought she would remember me, and would in-, 
form Saffi of my character, my birth and worthlessness ; 
and that would end all. The documents I did not think 
of till after I recovered from illness in the hospital of Mes- 
sina ; then, impelled by my duty to restore them, as well 
as by my love, I hastened back.” 

“ By order of government,” said Alfierdermo, I long 
since wrote to London about those documents, and mo- 
mentarily expect an answer which will throw some light 


CKIMORA. 


339 


upon these strange transactions of Smithers. But tell me . 
more of this remarkable and lovely Tzella, who has so 
deeply interested me ; for, since the day she started in 
search of you, I have not been able to obtain the least clue 
to her hiding-place.” 

“ I know nothing of her,” replied Wellington, except 
what I occasionally picked up from hasty remarks made 
by my mother. I think she believed that the history of 
the child involved a secret which had something to do with 
property she was to get from Smithers. She said that at 
first the lady sent her annually sufficient money to pay 
for its good keeping ; also rich and fine clothes for its 
body, and was very particular that it should be well 
instructed — and above all, taught goodness.” 

She was a good woman, then,” said Signor Fiello, in- 
terrupting the narrator, and wiping away the perspiration 
which stood in large drops on his forehead. 

Yes,” continued Wellington, she was a good wo- 
man, and mother often said, was beautiful, and that the 
child was the perfect image of her. When the money 
ceased coming, — and I have since thought that Smithers 
had something to do with intercepting it, — and mother 
grew poorer, she felt the necessity of getting rid of the 
girl ; so I, wishing also to have her out of the way, as she 
often had to have a good portion of my meals , suggested 
sending her to the West Indies,” 

What fiend could have put so diabolical a scheme into 
your young head ? ” asked the Italian, much excited. 

I know not, sir ; but I have been well rewarded for 
it,” replied Charles ; for since that time, manacled and 
bleeding I have seen her almost nightly flitting about my 


340 


CRIMORA. 


bed ; and if my right arm could have wiped the sad image 
from my brain, I would have given it.” 

‘‘ And does not this Tzella know anything of her 
parents ? ” asked Alfierdermo. 

‘‘ I think not,” replied Wellington ; “ though, when a 
child, I remember she always carried in her bosom a 
miniature of her mother.” 

I would give the world to find her,” said the Italian. 

Where do you suppose she can possibly be ? ” 

‘‘ I cannot imagine,” replied Wellington ; ‘‘ yet, had I 
the means to live, I would hunt for her.; for I wish at her 
feet to ask her forgiveness and bless her.” 

‘‘ You shall make, then, my house your home,” said 
Alfierdermo ; “ and ” (casting a glance at the ever ‘atten- 
tive Saflfi,) ‘‘ I think it will not be very disagreeable to 
you. Thus situated, you will be able to devote yourself to 
our mutual cause ; and rest assured, that if you by any 
means discover the whereabouts of the fair girl who is even 
now in search of you, you shall be most generously re- 
warded.” 


I 


CRIMORA. 


341 


CHAPTER XLII. 

We must turn back now to London, and look a little at 
afifairs there, and see how the very respectable Mr. and 
Mrs. Smithers’s virtues stand the test of public examination. 
The letters requiring information concerning the former 
had hardly been opened before it was noised abroad, and 
few commercial men of any note remained unapprised of 
the suspicions which rested on that monied, religious man 
of business. Smithefs himself — through his maid-servant, 
who obtained her information from her lover, a footman in 
the service of the counsellor who had the business in hand 
— was soon put in possession of the facts, which struck 
upon his brain like a paralytic shock and for a time nearly 
deprived him of all volition. When sufficiently recovered, 
however, he made up his mind to act energetically, and 
either obtain the papers again or die — as he felt he should 
have to, ignominiously, by the will of society, if he remain- 
ed in London — in the attempt. 

From the moment Smithers lost the Bolaro documents, 
he was a changed man. Previously, crime sat lightly 
on his conscience, probably because he felt that his 
villainy was unknown ; and when Mrs. Wellington, 
by his pei*fidy, went down to the grave ; when he turned ^ 
his own son from his doors, and wished him dead ; 
when he had removed another obstacle from the way 
29 * 


342 


CRIMORA . 


of his obtaining the property of his father-in-law, he* 
had only the end in vieAV from which he gathered his^ 
consolation. But now he was conscious that some one 
knew of his rascality, and held at will his reputation, for- 
tune, and life; and he trembled at every shadow, started 
and turned pale at every sudden sound, and was to all ap- 
pearance a confirmed hypochondriac. He knew that if his 
business affairs were examined into they would reveal the 
infamy of his character, and when the above-named in- 
structions arrived from Sardinia he saw his fate was vir- 
tually sealed — that only a miracle could feave him. 

The hour of retribution was drawing nigh, and Smithers 
felt it. He hastened home from his counting-room, and 
sending for his wife, explained, to some extent, the nature 
of his position. Mrs. Smithers was* overwhelmed. She 
had, as most people have, says Rochfancauld, the forti- 
tude to bear up against the misfortunes of others ; ” but 
that all her respectability — all that she had thought it 
worth living for — was to be swept away in a moment, was 
what she could never survive. She listened, grew red and 
pale, bit her lips, wrung her hands, and trembled with rage 
and mortification. 

Smithers was telling Mrs. Smithers of the necessity of 
his evading the law, and what she should do with his papers, 
and how she should act, and what she should say if any 
strange gentleman called to inquire particulary after him, 
when a loud rap and ringing of the bell, and a hasty look 
out of the window, warned him that he had but a moment 
of time in which to escape. Flight or a more ignominious 
fate were his only alternatives. Availing himself of the 
back gate, which opened on to a neighboring street, he 


^ CRIMORA. 


34 ^ 

was in an instant free, while his wife, seeing utter ruin and 
disgrace staring her in the* face, rushed to her chamber 
and throwing down her long cherished phantom of respect- 
ability, as Judas did the thirty pieces of silver, hung 
herself. 

The police, being assured that Mr. Smithers was in the 
house, fastened the doors, and demanded his immediate 
presence in the saloon. The servant hurried to her 
master’s chamber, and not finding him there, went to 
Madame’s, where wild screams soon carried the officials. 
What a scene ! Yet how unconcernedly they gazed upon 
it. Was life extinct in the suspended form ? They did not 
seek to know, nor did they care ; there was in the suicidal 
act an evidence of guilt, which did more to satisfy them in 
the discharge of their duties than the. saving of fifty lives 
would have done. They left the body hanging and re- 
tired, while the domestic, more dead than alive, ran to 
Mr. Jones’s house and informed the inmates of all that had 
happened. 

Mr. and Mrs; Jones hastened to the scene of disorder 
and death ; but they being prohibited touching the body 
without the presence of the coroner, its soul — if it ever 
possessed one — deserted its false and frail tenement long 
before that personage arrived. 

That Mr. Smithers had escaped, 'was another strong evi- 
dence of guilt, and the officers, accompanied by Mr. and 
Mrs. Jones, proceeded to examine the premises, make 
minutes of what was found, and put seals on such as they 
thought necessary particularly to secure. In a drawer of 
a private esmVozV, what did Mrs. Jones behold but the 
very letters she had written to Fiello and his answers 
to them. She grasped 'them eagerly, but was stayed in her 


344 


CRIMORA. 


proceedings by the ofiScial, till she showed that they were 
her own private correspondence, and in no way related to 
Mr. Smithers. Mr. J ones noticed his wife’s eagerness to pos- 
sess the package, and requested to see its contents, but on 
being assured that he should do so at some future time 
when she could make an explanation such as they required, 
yielded to her word as the voice of sincerity, and proceed- 
ed in the sad duties before him. 

Smithers’s books were taken possession of, and on exami- 
nation revealed fraud on fraud ; and when his numerous 
creditors appeared, there was little to show that honestly 
belonged to them ; the Bolaro property, and interest on 
the same, covering nearly all the assets of the great house 
of the respectable absconded merchant. 

The body of Mrs. Smithers had been laid quietly away 
in a grave, over which no human being shed a tear ; the 
affairs of Mr. Smithers were arranged as well as possible, 
and the talk about the eventful tenninus of a haughty 
family had nearly subsided, when Mrs. Jones requested 
the presence of her husband in her private room. 

My dear husband,” said Aluine to Mr. Jones, rising 
as he entered the door, as you are called, and, in one 
sense of the word, have been to me, I kiss your hand with 
affection and gratitude, for it is the same one that wed me 
in my girlish ignorance. Your lips I do not kiss, because 
they never speak to my soul : but I would kiss your feet 
in token of humility. But you do not understand me — 
come, sit down near me, and listen to me — to my hearty 
which I have never yet revealed to you.” 

Aluine, what does all this signify ? ” said Mr. Jones, 
evidently far from comprehending what she meant* by the 
‘‘ revelations of her Aear^.” 


CRIMORA. 


345 


You remember those letters,” continued Aluine, with 
a calmness Avhich evidently came from a high source, and 
a consciousness that she was acting as heaven willed ; — 
those letters I found at Smithers’s, and which I promised 
to show to you ? ” 

Oh, nonsense! never mind those — I had forgotten 
them ; and suppose they loere love-letters ? — wy, w^e get 
along very comfortably. You allow me to have my own 
way, enjoy m.y friends — who I know are not always multo 
simpatico to you — and I of course must allow you to have 
yours.” 

Yes, but dear Mr. Jones, my allowing you to have 
your own friends apart from me, is an overwhelming argu- 
ment that our tastes are not genial ^ — that our hearts are 
susceptible of different impressions. This is the real 
origin of those letters^, and the cause of all that I am now 
about to tell you.” 

Something about w^hat you call the heart, I suppose ? 
I much prefer talking about the jolly time we are to have 
next month with my boon companions of the chase in 
Scotland.” 

But listen, I praj you, then you will, perhaps, under 
stand me — will know me as I am — will forgive me ; for 
you are always good, and will yield me up if it is for my 
happines ; — I say my happiness, for yon are happier with 
those wild, hunting, jovial people with whom you pass most 
of your time, than you ever are, or can be, with me. 
Since we were married, have we ever passed one whole 
evening alone together, when the gross material world was 
laid aside and only our spirits allowed to hold converse ? ” 


346 


CRIMORA.. 


hope not/’ replied Mr. Jones, laughing, for this 
world was'given us to enjoy, and not to dream about.” 

Ah, Mr. Jones/’ said Aluine, in much sadness, “you 
will not understand me ; but had you been a participant in 
that inward life which to me is my only life, I should 
never have been compelled to seek another. As it is, I 
must tell you, that though the man appointed by his fellow 
men to be a minister in certain things, declared us wedded, 
I was not, in the sight of God, nor could I have been, 
from my very nature, wedded to you.” 

“ You are crazy, Aluine,” replied Mr. Jones, somewhat 
doubting his ears ; “ you were married to me before God, 
the priest, and the altar.” 

“ Still not toedded^^^ said Aluine, most mournfully. “ I 
gave you my hand, it is true, and I plighted my vows 
solemnly, but they were those of igjiorance. I knew not 
they were not of the spirit, which alone can give pledges 
of fidelity. I did not know then that I did not love you. 
I did not know that I could love another ; that my heart — 
my heart — had its holy, heaven-born companion not yet 
revealed to it.” 

“Well, what rigmarole are you to add to all this?” 
asked Jones, rather disdainfully. 

“ But you remember,” continued Aluine, without heed- 
ing the husband’s remarks, “ the young Italian whom you 
or Mr. Smithers introduced to me, and the effect our 
meeting had on him. I think you remember it, for you 
spoke particularly of it. You remember, too, when I 
fainted on my wedding night, who it was that kneeled 
beside me, and who was the cause both of my illness and 
my recovery. It was Signor Fiello Alfierdermo, who, 


CRIMOR A . 


34T 


from the instant he was born, was wed' to me. He could 
not wed another. My image was stamped upon his heart 
by his Maker ; and the moment he saw me he recognized 
his bride. . The ideal of both of our spirits found their 
identity : they were in harmony with each other, and in 
harmony with their Author.” 

“ And what are you, in the name of plain, common 
sense, aiming at ? ” asked Mr. Jones, with serious morti- 
fication. 

‘‘ Notwithstanding all this,” continued Aluine, as if 
uninterrupted, I resolved to fulfil, as far as consistent, 
my every pledge to you. I willed, then, to make you 
happy, and I have done my best to do so ; but my heart 
has always been another’s. Fiello was my God-sent 
bridegroom ; and now that I am fully convinced that you 
can ever be equally happy without me, I desire to go to 
him. You have been kind and good, and I thank you ; 
but everything disconnected with him has failed, lately, to 
make me less than miserable. Be kind, then, as you ever 
have been, and grant me full and free permission to leave 
you ; I pledging my honor never to visit this land again.” 

During this last explanation, Mr. Jones bowed his head 
down over the table that sat in front of him ; and though 
he sobbed as if in tears, spake not. 

The letters,” continued Aluine, which I found at 
Smithers’s house, were those written by me to him and his 
to me, intercepted by Mrs. Smithers : You can now see 
them. Had these been received, I should not have re- 
mained so long away from him ; but thinking that circum- 
stances had compelled him to refrain from writing, I did 
not feel at liberty to go, though I never for a moment 


348 


CBIMORA . 


doubted his constancy and love. Had I doubted him, I 
should have doubted Heaven itself, and died insane.’’ 

Mr. Jones still remained silent, but he was evidently 
struggling with some new feelings, of whose existence he 
had, perhaps, never dreamed. 

“ I would not,” resumed Aluine, ‘‘ Heaven knows I 
would not, Mr. Jones, willingly give you a moment’s pain 
or sorrow ; but you see from what source my happiness 
springs, and how different it is from yours. When you 
reflect upon it, I feel sure you will not condemn me, but 
will, as I do of you, wish me every consolation and bliss 
the fair earth and the good gifts of Providence can bestow. 
Say, dear sir, that you forgive ; consent to my wishes, and 
bless me.” 

As we have always said, Mr. Jones 'svas a kind and 
good-hearted man ; and though he was deeply mortified at 
what had been revealed to him, he saw the naturalness of 
it all — his want of adaptation of character to that of 
Aluine — and he could not either condemn her conduct or 
refuse her requests. Had he objected, there would have 
doubtless been an “ elopement ” paragraph in the news- 
papers ; unstinted scandal, unmitigated slander, poured out 
on either party ; while their entire domestic schedule would 
have been paraded out to gratify the morbid appetite of a 
disinterested pubhc. Policy, justice, goodness, necessity, 
dictated the decision, and it was a wise one. 

After a long and painful silence Mr. Jones raised his 
head from the table. His eyes were red with weeping, 
and it was with difiiculty he could answer the fair creature 
at his side. At last he said, — 

Aluine, what you have told me astonishes me beyond 
measure. Most men would have been angry, and sought 


CBIMORA. 


849 


to make you suffer for what they would call perfidy ; but, 
Aluine, such is not in my heart. There are but few 
women in the world who designedly do wrong, and you, 
above all others, I know would not, and much less would 
desire to injure me. \ do understand now, that we are 
unsuited to each other, and I will not, for the sake of a 
little personal vanity, render your life one of wretchedness 
by keeping you here. Go, Aluine, with my blessing. 
You have property enough of your own, and it will be all 
sent you in the form you require. Should it not be suffi- 
cient to render you happy, be assured it will give me a 
consolation if I may be allowed to add to it. I will say to 
my friends that your health requires that you should live 
at the South, and soon they will forget that I ever had 
a partner. With God’s blessing, adieu.” He arose, 
kissed her forehead, and hasteii^ed from the apartment, and 
in an hour more, in the society of jovial friends, forgot that 
he had possessed or lost, in Aluine Lorma, anything 
more than a favorite hound. 


80 


350 


CRIMOKA. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

Aluike’s faith and her own purity had sustained her 
for years, though she had not heard a word from her lover, 
and circumstances had occurred which wrung her heart to 
its very centre ; but when another blow came, the most 
cruel of all, she despaired, and wrote as follows : 

Ever-adored Fiello : — 

I can never describe to you how utterly desolate and 
wretched I felt when I first awoke on the morning of jour 
departure, and said to myself, He has gone ! he has 
gone ! ” I closed my eyes again, and wished that I might 
not see the light, and all the ungenial things it brings. 
But it could not be, and I shed the bitterest tears that 
ever came from my eyes. Years have passed, and I love 
you with the same intensity ; but you must have changed, 
and it is useless to hope that a love once gone can ever 
return. You will need some excitement, some new object, 
to relieve you of ennui. You will see — perhaps have, 
seen, some one, young, lovely, and amiable, and I shall be 
remembered as a thing of the past, a dream ; but, dear 
Fiello, you cannot altogether forget me, for you once loved 
me — and so well. Oh ! this is too much to bear, just at 
the time when all is lost to me if I have lost you. 


CRIMORA. 


351 


Fiello ! I must go on though my heart will die, now 
that you love me no more. But write, and kill this horrid 
suspense. Do not flatter or deceive me in compassion, but 
tell me you give up all dreams of happiness with me. 
How can I live in this state, breaking my heart every day, 
thinking all the long day, Is he changed, and lost to me 
for ever ? I think if you should tell me so, I should be* 
turned to stone, for when I only imagine such a thing my 
blood stands still, I feel cold, and I think how I shall look 
when I am dead ; and the pale, cold image seems to re- 
lieve the great void before me, for there is rest and peace. 
Death is beautiful when life has lost all its light ! 

I have had a little moment of relief in telling you a 
little of my grief ; and now, farewell. I shut my world 
in my heart, and seem of another. Adieu, my beloved, 
my perfect one. In your happiness remember you owe 
one .thought to me in my sorrow. 

Alui3s[E.’^ 

P. S. Ever dear Fiello, — If I possess not you^ I have 
the remembrance of you, which none can take from me any 
more than they can tear your image from my heart. My 
kind husband sees that I suffer, and thinking it an illness 
of the body instead of the mind, tries to make me well ; 
but it only adds to my wretchedness. I do not know that 
I could be comforted if you should write now that you 
love me ; for I could hardly believe it. I should only 
think that you wrote because you pitied me ; nothing but 
looking into your eyes could assure me. 

“ Another day has come, but I cannot close this letter, 
though my heart and brain are worn out thinking ever. 


352 


CKIMORA. 


ever thinking of you. I see you all day long. There is 
not a wave of your hair that is not as vivid to me as if you 
were here before me. Yesterday I took and read that 
book of poejns you gave me one bright Monday morning, 
(you had staid at home on Sunday to mark it for me.) 
Oh ! very dear Fiello, how happy we were then. I took 
^ the book and turned to the marked passages, but my eyes 
were too full of tears to read them, and my heart suffo- 
cated me. It will ever be to me very dear — like the 
garments of an only and lost child to a mourning mother, 
precious, but too painful to look upon. Other gifts seem 
more inanimate; the hooh speaks ■ — the words you once 
felt. 

Pardon me, dear Fiello, for no coldness has power to 
kill me as does yours. Daily I count the years, months, 
days, that you have been gone, and wonder if the next 
day will not bring me some relief ; but the day comes, and 
then r wish I might go to some dark and quiet place where 
I could not think nor feel. Night brings not re^t, but 
strange dreams. I think myself wandering in fearful 
places, trying to find a spot on which to rest, and that, 
alone and weary, I still must proceed. Last night I felt 
as I have not felt for years — not since the days of my 
girlhood and innocence, and just before stepping into bed 
I thought that I should like to pray for you — for my love 
and sorrow needed to pour itself out to something more than 
human ; for when all earthly consolations fail, our souls 
turn to the last and only true source of healing and com- 
fort. And why should I not pray for you ? My love for 
you is such I should not be ashamed of before my God, 
for it is as pure and true a love as was ever born in the 
breast of woman. 


C B I M 0 E A . 


353 


Dear angel Fiello, how many days or weeks must it be 
before I shall hear from you. I cannot endure this silence 
any longer. I must hear from you, be it good or ill — 
anything is better than silence. I ask you on my knees ; 
I beg you by all the love you ever bore me, by all that 
I once suffered for you^ and by all the happiness Tve have 
had together, that you will write me and tell me all. 
Dearest, farewell. God bless you and keep you and make 
you happy. Pity your once loved, your own 

Aluine.” 

This letter, like the others, was intercepted by Mrs. 
Smithers, and was found in her escritoir with Fiello’s last, 
which ran thus : 

Ever, ever dear Aluine : 

Why do I never, never hear a word from you ? Per- 
hapsut is because I do not come to you. But this I cannot 
do, as my poor father is hour by hour growing more feeble, 
and will not permit me to leave him. 

What new proof can I give of my constancy and love ? 
According to my promise I have written, and daily at the 
appointed time I have been with you at the Throne of 
Grace. Had I known you but an hour, perhaps I might 
sometime have thought that you had changed ; but the 
long intimacy that existed between us fully convinced me 
that it was a union of two souls God had created for each 
other, and which no time nor circumstances could dissever. 

The hope which I cherished when I left you seems now 
but like one of those white-winged birds of the fancy, 
which come and go when we are happy ; yet for a long 
30 * 


354 


CRIMORA. 


time it came, stepping with its little cherub feet, into my 
every prayer for your happiness. 

You see that I write somewhat cheerfully. It is because 
I do not despair of happiness with you. I know the sad 
trial I have previously to undergo, — that my father is to 
lie in his tomb, and that I am to be even more desolate- 
hearted than now ; but then, flying to you and proving to 
you that there never encircled my heart a wreath of joy, 
bearing a single flower, that had not its budding in some 
cherished thought of your own dear self, I feel sure will 
restore me to the full fruition of your society, which lacks 
nothing but the name to make it heaven. 

My beautiful Aluine, my fair silver dove, if you love me 
write to me, and believe me eternally yours, 

Fiello.’’ 

When Aluine first found these letters she hastened 
home, and, seeking her room, locked herself in with her 
happiness. She then took the loved epistles from her 
pocket, and separating them from her own, put them in her 
bosom, where, wi^h slender hands, she pressed them 
with warmth and tenderness for the long neglect they had 
suffered ; then sat down to delay and anticipate her cer- 
tain bliss, — though at times almost fearing to trust herself 
with so much of it as awaited her. At last she brought 
forth the loved messages from their concealment, and ar- 
ranging them according to their dates, began at the earli- 
est and perused them to the end ; each one being bathed 
in tears of joy, gratitude and love, and bearing the impress 
of a thousand kisses ere they were returned to their true 
and proper hiding-place. 


CRIMORA. 


355 


Oh, what can my dear Fiello have thought of me ! 
said Aluine to herself, again concealing her treasures ; 
“ what can he have thought of my not writing after my 
receiving such kind, tender tokens of his confidence and 
love ? Oh, I know what he thinks ! He trusts in me as I 
have in him. He knows that what God — not man — has 
joined together, nothing on earth can put asunder. He 
knows that I am all his through time, and that in eternity 
I will be a ministering angel to him, if kind heaven so 
permits. And now I will fly to him, and become his happy 
slave. By the sick bed of his father I will watch night 
and day, and the old man’s blessing will be upon me 
for my kindness to him ; and when he has gone away to 
the spirit land, I will comfort his dear son by every demon- 
stration of devotion my poor faculties will permit me to 
exhibit. Fiello, too, will aid me in the discovery of my 
lost — our lost treasure. But alas! as yet he knows 
nothing of it. Oh, what joy and pain will in succession fill 
his heart and strive for mastery ! But why do I stay 
idling my time away when, perhaps, my Fiello waits for 
me ? Oh, joy 1 oh, happiness I oh, bliss ! I am ready 
now, dear Fiello, and now this moment I will be on my 
way. I shall take nothing but my necessary garments 
with me — all else I leave behind. My servant is ready 
— money — all; no, my passport must be had. Oh, 
tedious delay ! but to-morrotv^ angel Fiello, if I live, I 
come ! ” and here, overmastered by her own heart’s 
beatitude, she sank back upon the lounge, and, for a long 
time, gave herself up to tears. 

On the following day, Aluine, alone — her servant 
deserting her in the hour of her utmost need — with as 


356 


CRIMORA. 


few articles as she could possibly be comfortable with, took 
the Thames steamer for Boulogne, and commenced her 
long and difficult voyage. 

Well educated, speaking fluently both the French and 
Italian languages, and being most aflable in her manners 
towards all those who, as travellers, were casually thrown 
in her way, Lorma Lathmon won, on all hands, respectful 
attention and kindness. Stepping on the shores of France, 
she seemed no longer separated from her lover by impassa- 
ble barriers, and, without a moment’s delay, proceeded 
onward. At night the diligence stopped at a small village 
inn, where the hostess, discovering that she was English, 
immediately solicited aid for a poor sick female in the 
adjoining apartment. Tres charmente^’’ said she, “ but 
dying for her lover.” These last words of course struck 
the tenderest chord in the listener’s bosom, and she at 
once asked to see the patient. 

On a bed in a darkened** room lay the pale and emacia- 
ted form of a once beautiful girl. In her hands she clasped 
a small bible, which she again and again pressed to her 
lips. Aluine drew near, and seating herself beside the 
sufferer, asked her of her misfortunes and proffered her 
best services. 

‘‘ You are a kind angel,” said the girl, come to take 
my parting words, and I bless you. Some years since, he 
whom I loved more than life itself, left me, and went on a 
voyage to Cuba. From that time till recently I hhd no 
tidings of him ; but learning that such a person had been 
wrecked on this coast, I crossed the channel to search for 
him. On the table of the first hotel I entered in Havre, I 
met with this little book — a book with my name in it — 


CKIMORA . 


357 


the book I gave him. It had, I learned, been left by a 
young dancing girl, who, I ascertained, journeyed in this 
■ direction. Thinking she might know something of my loved 
one, I have followed her here ; and now, exhausted, weary 
of life, I can proceed no farther. Please, dear woman, 
stay near while I live, and when I die take this little book 
with you, and tell him, if you ever meet him, that I died 
blessing him.” 

On the early morning of the following day, with a 
heavenly smile upon' her face, the sick stranger gave up 
her spirit to a new birth in a better sphere, where he whom 
she so fondly loved, was waiting to welcome her. With 
unfeigned sorrow Aluine wept over her and followed her 
to the grave ; but when the sad rites were over she recom- 
menced her journey. 

We must own that our heroine’s heart grew lighter, her 
hopes more buoyant, as she travelled southward ; though, 
when she reached Lyons, she was wearied in body almost 
beyond endurance. A day or two of rest became necessary, 
and it was fortunate that it was so ; for a lady and gentle- 
man meeting her there, and admiring her loveliness and 
superior gentleness of deportment, insisted on her becom- 
ing their companion for the rest of the route. This ap- 
peared as though fortune desired to make amends for 
previous malpractice ; and a few hours after the acquaint- 
ance began, Aluine, with joy bordering almost on delirium, 
was borne on towards paradise, in company with most 
amiable and intelligent voyagers. 


858 


CRIM ORA. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

Smithers remained a long time concealed in a misera- 
ble cellar in London, before he could obtain a passport ; 
then, under an assumed name, with face disguised by a 
heavy beard, he passed over into France, and proceeded 
as fast as circumstances — which could not compromise his 
incognito — permitted, towards Italy. Speaking no lan- 
guage but that of his , native country and a little Italian; 
having no ostensible business, and appearing guilty to 
every one who looked at him, he was narrowly watched, 
and several times near suffering arrest, on suspicion of 
being the perpetrator of some dastardly crime. 

Often, during his journey, Smithers contemplated re- 
turning and giving himself up — then suicide ; for he now 
began to reflect, that if he obtained the documents he was 
after, they would avail him nothing, sincO it had doubtless 
been satisfactorily proved that he came in possession of 
them by fraudulent means. This, in connection with his 
other tricks of chicanerie and vile artifices which his books 
must have exhibited, convinced him too that England could 
never again be his home ; while there occasionally flashed 
across his mind the idea that' there might possibly rest 
against him a suspicion and even proof of murder : still a 
demon urged him on. Though looking back, he pursued 


CEIMORA. 


359 


his way, eager to grasp again those precious papers which 
had been both the capstone of his fortune and his ruin. 

While Smithers and Wellington were proceeding towards 
Genoa, Tzella was going from it. Many days she remain- 
ed in Florence, seeking in its every corner, and inquiring 
of almost every one she met, for the juveni Ivglese. 
When her money fail-ed her she went to the public squares 
and danced — sure that her^ grace and extraordinary 
beauty would win for her immediate relief. Sometimes 
she suffered from the rude speeches of the vulgar, but 
usually her self-respect, self-possession and innocence, pre- 
served her from all serious harm. 

From Florence the strada-balarina wended her way on 
foot towards Rome ; but ere she had accomplished half 
her journey she fell dangerously ill. By the unremitted 
care of a Sister of the Sacred Heart, who took her to a 
Convent and became to her as a tender mother, she 
escaped death. When the fever of her brain had been 
allayed by repose, and the sorrows of her heart alleviated 
by the Christian teachings of the good sister, she told the 
story of her life. This deeply interested her benefactress, 
who so fully then portrayed to her the joys of a celebic 
life, that Tzella resolved, as soon as she had accomplished 
her mission, to return and become one of the exemplary 
and devout Sisterhood. When able to walk she resumed 
her pilgrimage. 

Rome could not be searched in a day, but Tzella did 
not despair ; and so long as daylight lasted she wandered 
in search of Wellington. If for a few moments she rested 
from her labor, the pale, expressive face of her dearly loved 
friend SaflS rose before her in all its tearful sadness. She 


SoO 


CRIMORA. 


would then lift her large, liquid eyes toward heaven, utter 
a silent prayer for forgiveness, and recommence her task- 
steps. 

While the poor, houseless Tzella was wandering like a 
maniac about the Eternal City, the important facts 
which she had communicated to the governor concern- 
ing the claims the Austrians had on the Val de Maz- 
zara, and the mineral wealth abounding there, were trans- 
mitted to the king. His Majesty, waking as from sleep, 
was overcome by surprise. He saw at once how useful to 
an enemy such a pass would be in the event of a war. 
That a mere child, too, should discover the great mineral 
deposit, which had escaped the eyes of all their boasted 
geologists, was no less astounding, and he at once con- 
ceived the idea of having the prodigy in his own family as 
a tutor to his daughters in the science of mineralogy. 
Action followed the thought. Orders were immediately 
given that despatches should be sent by the different mails 
to all the principal villages and cities of Italy, to obtain, if 
possible, news of this young gem’s whereabouts, and have 
her brought to the palace. 

One day when Stella Bianca was standing disheartened 
at the corner of a street, an officer of some rank gently 
touched her on the shoulder, and asked if her name was 
not Tzella. 

Senor ; pero no puedo trovar mon amigo Welling- 
ton^ can you not tell me something of him, since you know 
my name ? ” 

“ My good girl,” rephed the officer, know nothing 
of him. My mission is from the king, and he requests jour 
immediate presence at Turino.” 


CEIMORA. 


861 


The king ! ” exclaimed Tzella, with unaffected sur- 
prise ; ‘‘ what can the king want of me ? I am innocent of* 
all crime, unless to be without parents or a home is a 
crime ; and all I now do, is seek for a friend of my dear 
friend who dies to see him. Do not, I beg of you, inter- 
rupt me in my sacred duty to one to whom I owe my®life ; 
but be assured, if you will permit me to accomplish this 
work of love, I will then hasten to the king, and will give 
up my life willingly to him.” 

am not disposed to interrupt the melody of that 
voice,” responded the officer, but it is my privilege to 
tell you that the king is pleased with you, for the impor- 
tant information you recently communicated to the gover- 
nor of Genoa, and wishes to confer favors on you. On 
arriving there, if your request be that the gentleman you 
speak of shall be found, his majesty has the means of doing 
it at once — the same means he had of discovering you.” 

And do you believe,” asked Tzella, with impatient 
earnestness, “ that his majesty would condescend to inter- 
est himself in poor Wellington? I think he would in my 
sweet friend Saffi.” 

I know he would,” replied the officer. He would 
grant you almost any favor you might ask of him. Here is 
his royal word, and his royal seal, — examine it that you may 
know I am not practising any fraud on you ; and if you 
are satisfied, and will start this evening, the Countess 
Alfierdermo de Seduli will take pleasure in being your 
friend and protector on your journey.” 

As soon as the officer stated that the king would take 
measures to restore Wellington to her Saffi, no other 
thought appeared to occupy .her mind, and she was now as 
81 


willing as she was at first reluctant, to go. She accom- 
panied the officer to the hotel of the countess, and with a 
light and happy heart, thanked God for his goodness — 
that goodness which had afforded her the means of joying, 
in view of making others happy. 

The Countess de Seduh, an austere and not very ac- 
complished lady — - somewhat passe , withal — soon entered 
the saloon where Tzella waited ; and though astonished at 
the poor and dusty garb, the worn shoes, and the outre 
capalina of her guest, was more . astonished at the suavity 
of her manners (which betokened noble rather than ple- 
bian blood), the splendor of her eyes, her marble com- 
plexion, and general conduite courtoise, 

“ You will journey with us to Genoa, I understand,’’ 
said the Countess. 

If it is your pleasure,” said Tzella, courtesying very 

low. 

‘‘We feel that we shall be exceedingly honored,” 
replied the countess, “ for we hear much of the impor- 
tance of various kinds of information you have imparted 
to our government.” 

“ I am little worthy of these high compliments,” said 
Tzella, in a most humble manner. “ It is true, I told of 
what accidently came to my ears at Vienna, and which I 
ever blush to recall ; and something concerning some 
copper ores in the Val de Mazzara.” 

“ And how did you know anything of minerals, since 
very few of the best educated here can recognize one 
stone from another ? ” resumed the countess. 

“ Long years of service in the deep mines of Cuba gave 
me that knowledge which ha^ made me very happy, and 
which now gives me inexpressible delight to recall.” 


CRIMORA. 


863 


“ And how could you be happy under ground ? You 
utterly astonish me.’’ 

I seemed ever to be communing with Nature and 
Grod — and both seemed to me ever true ; but since then, 
all the world appears false, and I have hardly found one 
noble heart in which I could put my trust. Saffi is one 
of Nature’s guileless children, and so has twined my heart 
with hers. But perhaps you do not know Saffi, whose 
lover I came here to seek ? ” 

I am sorry to say, since you speak of her so highly, 
that I never heard of her.” 

‘‘She is a poor girl of the country, but she has a 
heavenly soul. For a long time she nourished me as a 
sister, and then* taught me the little Italian I now speak. 
It was when seeking for her lover that I disclosed those 
facts to government through il Senor Alfierdermo.” 

“ Alfierdermo ! ” exclaimed the countess. “ My hus- 
band ? ” 

“I do not know, madam, except that he is noble, good, 
and kind ; and ascertaining that one Smithers had some- 
thing to do with my task, took a deep interest in it.” 

“ Ah ! some of his English acquaintances, I suppose,” 
remarked the countess, with some irony. 

“ Yes, madam,” replied Tzella, “ and he knows the bad 
character of the man from Mr. Wellington ; and finds out 
that he can restore some valuable property to Saffi, left 
to her by her uncle, whom Smithers is thought to have 
murdered.” 

“ And do you know anything of one Mrs. Jones ? ” 
asked the countess, with a searching look. 


364 


CRIMGRA. 


Jones, Jones,” said Tzella, very thoughtfully. ‘‘I 
have a strange confusion of ideas at the sound of that 
name, and my heart beats quicker, as it seems to me it 
used to when I was a child ; but now I do not remember 
anything,” and bowing down her head she remained for a 
long time as if in the deepest meditation. 

“ Well, never mind now,” said the countess, after a 
pause ; ‘‘ perhaps during our journey you will recall some 
early events that will bring her more clearly before you. 
There is something in your face which wonderfully inter- 
ests me, and I shall try and make your return to Genoa 
pleasant to you ; ” but there was a very doubtful expres- 
sion playing about the features of the speaker. 

‘‘As we are soon to start,” resumed the countess, ‘‘‘ to 
what hotel shall I send for your baggage ? ” 

“ I have none,” replied Tzella. 

“ None ! ” exclaimed the lady. “ How did you come 
here, then ? ” 

“ As I am now,” was Tzella’s answer. 

“ Poor thing ! ” said the countess. “ But there is a 
remedy that need not detain us. I have a daughter of 
just your age, who will accompany us. Her garments, I 
think, will fit you, and if you will condescend to wear 
them, I should be happy to have you do so. Come with 
me to her chamber, and I will introduce you, and she will 
soon provide you with all you need.” 

“ You are very kind,” said Tzella, “ and I would most 
willingly accept your offer, if I thought I could ever repay 
you.” 

“ Do not mention that subject, for by serving one whom 
the king is pleased to honor, we are already paid.” 


C U I M 0 R A . 


865 


.Tzella, soon arrayed, was more lovely even than Lady 
Alfierdermo had imagined ; and as she, accompanied by 
the countess and the countess’s daughter, stepped into the 
carriage that waited at the door to bear her back to the 
home of the loved Safii, people crowded around to gaze on 
her. 

That w^as your father, I think ? ” said Tzella to her 
young companion, — referring to the officer who affection- 
ately kissed them at parting. 

“ No, he is my uncle ; but I love him as a father, 
for he is always so good and kind. He even gave 
mother a portion of his palace as a residence, and since 
then we have lived there instead of at pa’s ; for pa is 
always so busy, and has to spend all his time with his old, 
decrepid, cross fool of a father. I hate these business 
men ! Officers only are to my taste ! ” and the pert miss 
tossed her head, forgetting she was called the daughter of 
a merchant. 

Why did you suppose that that gentleman was her 
father ? ” said Lady Alfierdermo to Tzella. 

Wy, because she is the exact image of him,” was 
Tzella’s reply. 

Lady Alfierdermo blushed, put an elegantly embroidered 
handkerchief over her eyes, and remained silent. 

31 * 


366 ’ 


C R I 0 R A . 



CHAPTER XLV. 

Smithers at last reached Genoa ; but the physical suf- 
ferings, the agony of mind, the taun tings of conscience 
which he had endured throughout this journey, so distorted 
every virtuous or rational pianciple of his soul, that his 
every desire and design was as diabolical as anything 
of human origin could be. For days and days he stole, 
fox-like, about the streets in search of Wellington. Not 
contented, how^ever, with his own personal efforts, he 
obtained the aid of a vile creature who was instructed to 
entice the youth (if he found him) to an old deserted 
tower near the lanterna^ and there secure him till he 
should reveal the place of concealment of the; Bolaro docu- 
ments, — then assist him to a resting place under the blue 
waters of the gulf. 

One morning, w^hen almost despairing, wdio should 
Smithers descry mid the crowd at the banqui^ but the ob- 
ject of his most unnatural hate ! In an instant, his hand 
clutched a knife that lay concealed in his bosom, and he 
exclaimed, he thought — accursed devil ! ’’ but choking 
with rage, he had only hissed out unintelligible accents. 

Tis fortunate,” said Smithers, my cry did not at- 
tract attention — more fortunate that I was not near 


CRIMORA . 


• 367 


enough to the viper to strike him, for that would have de- 
feated my plans.’’ 

Wellington, not recognizing the emaciated, cadaverous, 
bearded visage of Smithers, proceeded directly home, little 
dreaming who followed ; though he was, the whole way, 
wondering if Saffi’s claim and his father’s villainy could be 
established : as on that depended not only much of his own 
happiness, but even the life and freedom, perhaps, of his 
betroth ed. 

Smithers did not for an instant lose sight of the youth, 
who, the moment after he entered Alfierdermo’s house, 
was being inquired after with astonishing pertinacity ; and, 
as the porter to whom the questions were being put did not 
imagine any evil, responded frankly to the inquisitor, — 
telling him’* of the structure of the house, the position of 
each room and who were its occupants, the shape of the 
hall, and even the character of the window-fastenings, — 
till at last, becoming distrustful, ordered the stranger about 
his business. 

The knowledge Smithers had now obtained he felt was 
almost sufficient ; for every word the servant had uttered 
to him was indelibly and distinctly fixed in his mind. To 
make his scheme more sure, however, he induced his ac- 
complice to get access to the house under some pretence 
or other, see the young man and his apartment, if possible, 
and note the easiest mode of reaching it. Thus far all was 
favorable. The Italian got into familiar conversation with 
the porter, and learned that the window to the main hall 
opened on terraced ground, separated from a private pas- 
sage-way by a high wall ; but as regarded Wellington’^ 
room, he was mistaken, for the man said the one on the 


368 • 


CRIMOR A. 


right (meaning from the entrance) was the young English- 
man’s, and the first on the left that of Saffi Bolaro. 

The facts Smithers was now in possession of afforded 
him the liveliest satisfaction, while the doubt, if he had 
cherished one about the documents being in Alfierdermo’s 
palace, was wholly removed when he learned that the 
daughter of Bolaro was under the same roof with his son ; 
and, if the determination to murder one individual had be- 
come a fixture in his mind, he now resolved that the lives 
of all the inmates of that dwelling should not stand in his 
way to the obtaining the papers he sought. 

The evil-disposed are never wanting in opportunity to 
do evil ! The night agreed on between Smithers and his 
accomplice for the robbery, was stormy and of course 
favorable. Smithers, aided by the Italian, scaled the wall 
almost fearlessly, for he had a well-sharpened instrument, 
with which he was certain of cutting his way to an escape, 
if attacked. When once upon the terrace, a heavy iron 
bar was passed to him by a rope, and with that he pro- 
ceeded to the window, and, as he supposed, to his most 
difficult task. Sooner, however, than he expected, he suc- 
ceeded in raising the bolt at the bottom, by many times 
lifting the whole frame and letting it return to its 
place again. This he was enabled to do, from the fact 
that between the top of the sash and the capstone there 
was a space of about an eighth of an inch, and each time 
the bar allowed the frame to return that distance to its 
place, it lifted thus much of the fastening. 

Young Wellington, having been apprised by the porter 
of the inquiries a suspicious looking person had made about 
him, was cautious and watchful ; and it would be almost 


CRIMORA. 


369 


safe to say, that at the moment Smithers stepped from the 
terrace into the house, the son stepped from his bed to his 
door, conscious that something dreadfully wrong was going 
on. To a guardian spirit Wellington may have been in- 
debted for the timely warning. Looking through the key- 
hole, he saw a ray of light on the marble pavement of the 
hall, and, in a second more, a man go stealing along with 
a knife and lantern in hand, directly to the door opposite 
his own — the first door on the right — and bend down 
to listen. What ! was his Saffi, his own dear Safii, to be 
the victim of an assassin ? His blood seemed freezing 
about his heart, and fearing he should become incapable of 
action if he delayed, grasped a pistol from the wall, and 
fiinging open his door, with a bound stood within reach of 
the villain. Wellington made no demand, saw nothing but 
a murderer of his adored one, and, sure of his work from 
his nearness to his foe, fired. The suddenness of his 
movement and the lightness of his step had given but a 
faint warning to the ear of Smithers, who had^only time to 
clutch his knife and turn to see if what he heard was not 
the efiect of fright, ere he fell mortally wounded, exclaim- 
ing — my son ! my son ! ” 

The deed is done,” said Wellington to himself, and 
feeling that he was a murderer, sprang to his room, bolted 
his door and buried himself in bed. At the report of the 
pistol the ‘‘ accomplice ” fled, and the police gathered about 
the house ; while Alfierdermo, hastening from his sick 
father’s room, where he had been sitting, still dressed, 
gave the alarm of murder. The porter rushed into the 
street, and the police into the house, and in five minutes 


370 


C R I M 0 R A . 




were bearing off Signor Fiello to prison, leaving a guard by 
the body till some action could be had by the government. 

In the morning, Wellington issued from his room 
whistling a merry tune, but when he saw the guard and 
the corpse, manifested extreme wonder. He then inquired 
about his friend. Signor Alfierdermo the younger, and 
learning that he had been taken to prison, shed tears of 
unfeigned sorrow. Meeting Saffi, he accompanied her to 
attend on the aged invalid, who was now deprived, not 
only of a dear son, but a kind and tender nurse. 

Almost distracted, Wellington passed the day with the 
sick man. He did not dare to say that he had murdered 
his father, and he could not harbor the thought that he 
would be so vile as to allow his benefactor to suffer in his 
stead. . For the present, however, he could not act. He 
wished time to think how he ought to proceed. At one 
moment he thought of flying, leaving a true statement of 
the manner and cause of the murder ; but then, the beauti- 
ful form of his Saffi stood between him and the way. At 
another moment, he resolved to give himself up ; but then, 
a prison and a disgraceful death rose before him. 

Wellington passed a night of the acutest agony, and 
another day with his torments unabated ; and when even- 
ing came, the shadows of death would have seemed to him 
almost like the wings of light, — so thoroughly was he im- 
bued with the enormity of his actions. At a late hour, he 
invited Saffi to the terrace, to talk with her on what had 
occurred ; hoping he should find courage enough to dis- 
close his crime. 

“ This'is a dreadful affair, dear Saffi,” said Wellington, 
placing himself on a seat by his betrothed ; ‘‘ who do you 
suppose could have committed this murder ? ” 


CRIMOBA. 


871 


‘‘ Murder, do j^ou say ? ’’ replied Saffi ; “ this is not mur- 
der ; for I doubt not that our good friend Signoi; Alfier- 
dermo did kill the wretch in self-defence. The assassin was 
found with lantern and knife, and the window was open, 
and his object was robbery and murder ; and to kill such an 
one implied only a proper courage, and cannot virtually, 
though it may legally, tarnish the fair name of our ‘friend.’^ 
Why then, did he deny the act ? 

Doubtless from fear of being called a murderer. For 
it is possible he loves some one, who, on the instant, he 
might think would cast him off, and make of him a vaga- 
bond.’’ * 

And if he were in love with you, could you look upon 
him again as the same pure creature which you previously 
deemed worthy your idolatry ? ” 

Indeed I could,” was Saffi’s quick reply. 

Let me now suppose a case, having many things in 
common with this, but in one point differing very mate- 
rially. Suppose a being, calling himself a man, should, 
under the guise of love and honor, seduce an unsophisti- 
cated country girl from the paths of innocence, make her 
abandon the world, her friends and all for him, and then 
doom her — a weak and feeble mother — to years of toil, 
misery and destitution, and finally, death ; then,. that that 
monster should spurn her child, kick him from his doors, 
and hunt him to the death, and the child thus tasked 
should stab his father to the heart ; what charity should 
you feel for that poor son ? ’’ and here the big tears rolled 
down his cheeks, but Saffi saw them not. 

What charity, dear Carlo, do you say ? Do you not 
know the heart of your Saffi well enough to judge what 
my feelings would be ? ” 


372 


CRIMORA. 


Yes, you would brand liim a Cain, and think him 
worse — as much worse than a fratricide as a father 
should be dearer than a brother.” 

“ How you mis-judge me. Carlo ! In this case the man 
is no more than an assassin — is not a father ; rejects his 
child whom he should have cherished, and makes him more 
a stranger than one of no consanguinity.” 

‘‘ Heaven has blessed you with a good heart,” exclaimed 
Wellington, seizing the hand of the girl, and pressing it to 
his lips, while scalding tears fell fast upon the little treas- 
ure ; and if you can so pity and forgive one whom you 
have seen only in my story, pity and forgive your owU 
Charles, who is the murderer of his father ; ” and he 
could proceed no further ; but burying his face in his 
hands, was bowed in sorrow to the earth. 

‘‘ You! Carlo,” said SaflS, throwing her arms wildly 
around his neck. 

am the murderer, but I did not know it was he,” 
replied Wellington, after a little pause. I thought him 
a robber ; and as he sought your door, and had a knife 
in his hand, I knew any alarm from you would be your 
death ; so I sprang upon him, and before I could see who 
it was, I killed him. He knew me, spoke my name, but 
it was tao late — in an instant he was still.” 

‘‘ Oh, heavens ! Carlo, why did you not say that at 
once ? Your silence only has made it a crime, and that 
compelled you to add to it by permitting our best, our 
kindest friend, to be incarcerated for you. Why, Carlo, 
was your usual prudence neglected ? Why your generous 
nature dormant ? They would not have harmed you when 
they had heard your story. The aspect of things is now 


CRIMORA. 


873 


changed by delay, and I know not what to counsel ; ” and 
for a long time, weeping on the bosojn of her lover, she 
remained silent. 

Saffi, I know that I am vile, and unworthy of your 
love,” said Wellington, in a slow and solemn tone ; but 
show me now how I can act honorably, and redeem myself 
in your eyes, and I will do it, even though it brings "my 
neck to the block.” 

To-night, dear Carlo, I cannot advise anything ; but 
in the morning, after I have called, by my most fervent 
prayers, the aid of the Virgin Mother, I will tell you my 
thoughts, and will assist you in doing justice to all your 
fellow creatures, — trusting in the mercy of Heaven for our 
reward. Adio, adio^^^ and leaving Wellington still sitting 
on the terrace, she returned to the apartment of the aged 
invalid, to see what might be wanting, then passed to her 
own room to spend the night in pleading with the Holy 
Mother. 

Wellington, little knowing of the fervency and power 
of the supplications and thanksgivings that ofceRded for 
him like sweet incense towards heaven, paced the terrace, 
longing for morning and the time to come when he could 
commence to act, and retrace the steps he had taken in 
an evil and dishonorable way. 


32 


374 


CRIMORA . 


CHAPTER .LXVI. 

The marchioness, from the moment the carriage left the 
door of the hotel in the Corso, was untiring in her atten- 
tions to the young English girl. Her object .was to win 
confidence, and afterwards obtain some information concern- 
ing her husband while in London. Moreover, if Tzella 
was to become, for instance, a maid of honor to the queen, 
or be received as a guest into the palace of the king, she 
might be of service to her in her ambitious views for 
herself and the officer who so affectionately parted with 
her in Rome, 

‘‘I do not wonder,” said the marchioness, ^‘that the 
king takes such an* unbounded fancy to you, you are so 
very beautiful.” 

“ I thank you/’ replied Tzella, but his majesty has 
never seen me.” 

‘‘ Then he will be the more pleased,” was the lady’s 
ready reply, for no one could have descnbed to him all 
the perfections of which you are possessed.” 

The marchioness's daughter, not understanding the cue, 
looked at the girl, gave to her lip a contemptuous curl, 
shrugged her shoulders, then turned her face to the oppo- 
site side of the carriage. Tzella noticed it, heaved a long 
drawn sigh, and remained silent, wondering why beings 
should dislike each other without cause. 


CRIMORA, 


875 


The lady gave her daughter a look of reproof, and con- 
tinued : You said you were from England, I believe. 
What part of that country ? ‘ 

“ From Cornwall, madam.” v 
They call you Tzella, and la Stella Bianca; but what 
was your father’s name, may I ask ? ” 

I do not know,” replied Tzella, as if perfectly uncon- 
scious that there couljl be any harm in not knowing who 
her father was; but I Called Mrs. Wellington, mother, 
though she told me I was not her child. She sometimes 
said that my own mother was too poor to take care of me, 
and then that she was dead ; but I had a hope and a 
belief always, that I should some day see my mother and 
father, and love them.” 

Do you remember of ever hearing the name of Jones 
mentioned when you were a child ? ” the marchioness, 
carelessly, repeating a previous question. 

‘‘0, yes ; I remember now that Mrs. Wellington once 
spoke very harshly of her, and young Charles mentioned 
her with terrible oaths ; but I do not know why.” 

This, though approaching near the subject that much in- 
terested, or had at least greatly excited the curiosity of 
the marchioness, was far from being satisfactory. She had 
been apprized of the friendship that had existed between 
her husband and Mrs. Jones; for Mrs. Smithers, in the 
early stages of that attachment, desirous of creating all the 
mischief she could — and make her own stable virtues 
more conspicuous, as they stood in comparison with the 
character of others as she repre^nted them — had written 
to her a long and minute account of all she knew, and a 
great deal she didn’t know, concerning Signor Alfier- 
dermo and Lady Jones. 


370 


CRIMORA. 


On the second day of their jonmey, a horseman dashed 
up to the carriage and announced to the marchioness that 
her husband had been arrested for murder. 

“ Who do you take n\e for ? asked the marchioness of 
the courier. 

For the Marchioness d’Alfierdermo,” was the respect- 
ful reply. 

‘‘ And dare you to say to me that wy husband has been 
accused of murder ? * 

I was ordered thus, by his dying father, to bring this 
report, with all haste, to your ears.’’ 

And do you suppose that he whose name I bear, 
■would so far dishonor me as to become a murderer ? Yet 
■what could I expect from the son of a merchant, except 
the money I wed him for ! ” and she threw herself back 
in her carriage, and, muttering disgraceful ! disgrace- 
ful ! ” seemed regardless of all but the stigma that she felt 
would necessarily attach to her name. After awhile she 
composed herself with the not unpleasant reflection, that 
she need not always be called Alfierdermo, for as soon as 
her present low-born partner had forfeited his life, she 
could wed a man she loved better. 

‘‘ Shall I not urge the coachman to proceed faster ? ” 
asked the courier. 

‘‘ No,” replied the marchioness ; for w^e shall hear 
soon enough, and enough, of the base act, by proceeding 
as w^e do now.” 

The courier saw how things w^ere, begged to know if 
there were any commands f9r Genoa, then struck spurs 
into his horse and returned the way he came. 


C K I M 0 R A . 


877 


How very different were the feelings of the marchioness 
when, an hour afterwards, having reached a little inn 
where they were to pass the night, a courier arrived from 
Rome, bringing intelligence that the friend whom she 
lately parted with. Colonel Macarani^ had been thrown 
from his horse and dangerously hurt. Now almost frantic, 
she thought neither of food or rest, nor hardly of her child ; 
but, giving orders for fresh post-horses and another car- 
riage, and enjoining on her young companions to remain 
where they were till her return, set out for Rome. All 
night long, with only the necessary delay at the post- 
stations, she was urging the driver to the utmost speed, 
and seemed to think the noble animals lagging because 
they did not keep pace with her impatience. 

In an incredible short space of time the rein was drawn 
in front of the palace of Colonel Macarani, and, without 
announcing her distinguished presence, the marchioness 
flew up the marble stairs to the well-known apartment of 
her friend, and putting aside the domestics, exclaimed — 

My God ! tell me if he still lives! ’’ then threw herself 
on her knees beside the bed of the sufierer, and looked the 
picture of despair. ‘ The colonel recognized the voice, but 
as it pained him to speak, he replied to the ten thousand 
questions that were pufc to him, by gently pressing the 
hand to which his own had been extended on the approach 
of his dear arnica. 

The physicians having stated that it would be impossible 
for Colonel Macarani to leave his bed for some’ weeks, the 
Marchioness Alfierdermo concluded to remain and attend 
on him. In consequence of this, on the following day she 
despatched a servant to inform her daughter that she 
32 * 


878 


CRI MORA. 


and the young English lady must proceed alone to Genoa, 
as it was not in her power at present to join them. 

That the Marchioness Alfierdermo was now for the first 
time in her life humanely and usefully employed, few 
doubted who knew her, but none there then knew that her 
husband yvas in chains in prison, and that her father-in-law 
was breathing his last, without one dear friend to comfort 
him. 

The marchioness’s daughter and Tzella arrived at last 
safely at the capital, and, after the necessary preparations, 
the latter Avas presented to the king. Need Ave say his 
majesty Avas more than charmed — more than delighted ? 
He had expected to see a masculine and ruddy English 
girl, but instead, he beheld one of the most strangely deli- 
cate creatures his eyes ever rested on. To one Avho had 
penetration, Tzella’s face, too, ofiered a world of thought, 
and told of a world of feeling ; and the king had no sooner 
looked on her than he resolved to adopt her into his 
family. 

But, while there Avas calmness and contentment in some 
places, there was a sad scene enacting in another. Signor 
Alfierdermo, the elder, had lost the care of his only child, 
Avho for years had been his constant attendant as his clerk, 
his counsellor, his factor, his nurse ; and learning the cause 
of the sad bereavement, sank rapidly as if stricken by 
some new and mighty malady. Only a few days after his 
son was taken from him he became unconscious of his 
identity, imagined himself a bag of money about to be 
untied and scattered to the four AA'inds, and so slept Avith 
his fathers. 


CRIMORA. 


879 


The news of Alfierdermo’s death reached Fiello in 
prison. The blow was not fatal to him, still it so shattered 
his soul that for a long time he was bereft of all reason. 
With his t33i:h he gnawed the bars of iron that crossed his 
'window, while his hands were torn and bleeding in his at- 
tempts to wrench the grating from his doors ; and not until 
overcome by fatigue did he desist in his mad attempts to 
break from his confinement to fly to his father. His 
keepers thought he 'was writhing under a guilty conscience, 
and occasionally derided him, and laughed at his impotent 
rage. Thank heaven, he knew not what they said ! He 
heard nothing ; for the grief of his heart had drowned all 
else. If he had a moment’s calm, it was when there stole 
into his brain the image of his long lost Lorma ; — then 
he clasped his hands, looked heavenward, and smiling 
through his tears, kneeled down to pray. If his loved one 
could have seen him in these struggles, she would have 
died of grief. If Wellington could have seen him, he 
would have been overwdielmed by remorse. 

The kind and tender-hearted Saffi w^as a daily visitant 
at the prison of Signor Fiello, and few w^ere better calcu- 
lated to relieve the anguish of his mind than she was. 
One day, on returning home, who should call to her from 
a carriage, but her loved Tzella, arrived from Rome ! 
Tzella, the lost and lovely, was still safe ! When the first 
joy of their meeting was over, they were driven to Alfier- 
dermo’s palace, and there ‘‘ set down ” ; Tzella, with a grate- 
ful heart, taking leave of her companion du voyage. The 
marchioness’s daughter, doubtless glad to be rid of com- 
pany no ways congenial, possessing personal and mental 
charms of which she was sure she could never boast — 


880 


CRIMORA. 


hastened to her mother’s splendidly furnished apartments 
in the palace of Colonel Macarani, where there were wait- 
ing to receive her, servants, civil and military, over whom 
for a time she was to reign as mistress. 

And who w^as that young lady in the carriage with 
you ? ” asked Saffi, after she had inquired about the cause 
of Tzella’s long absence, her health, and her wanderings. 

That w^as Signor Alfierdermo’s daughter,” said Tzella. 

Ah ! the one I have heard him speak of. But he 
solemnly assured his father, in my presence, one day when 
speaking about a will, that she was 7wt his daughter.” 

Not his daughter ! ” exclaimed Tzella. 

No, but of a colonel in whose palace they have always 
resided ; for as soon as they were married — and it was a 
marriage for money on one side, and for title (the longing of 
the father) on the other — Signor Alfierdermo, who never 
loved her, and only wed her to gratify his aged parent whom 
he more regarded than his own life, started for England. For 
reasons no one knew, he w^as long absent ; and as his lady 
would not be under the surveillance of old Alfierdermo, she 
took apartments in th-e Macarani palace, where she has 
ever since resided — probably never seeing the kind, good 
old father-in-law unless it happened to be in the public 
streets. 

This, then, accounts for that strange indifference they 
both manifested when the courier arrived and announced 
that Signor Fiello Alfierdermo was in prison for murder ; 
and the extravagant fury and impatience the mother 
showed when another from Rome brought intelligence of 
the illness of Colonel Macarani.” 


CRIMORA. 


881 


‘‘ Yes, it solves it all ; and, doubtless, if Signor Alfier- 
dermo should perish — heaven forefend ! — in this inex- 
plicable charge against him, she will soon be the bride of 
the colonel.” 

But this reminds me of the poor prisoner. What can 
be done for him ? I know he is innocent, and some vile 
wretch should be in his place.” 

Do not say vile wretch, dear Tzella, for he m,ay have 
done it innocently ; ” and she laid her hands on those of 
her friend, but cast her eyes upon the floor. 

What do you mean, dear Saffi ? You speak and act 
as though you knew something of it,” said Tzella. 

I do know something of it, dear friend,” replied Safii, 
but I must not say even to you w^hat I suspect. If you 
love me, however, and feel that I have ever done you a 
service, promise me that if you have any influence with the 
king (one of whose household I learn you are soon to be- 
come) , you will use it all in saving the life of the individual 
who has done the deed for which our noble and benevolent 
friend is now suffering.” 

“ With all sacredness I do promise it ; and if the forfeit 
of my poor life can serve you, dear Saffi, it is ever, ever at 
your disposal.” 

Not long after the interview between the Montuna and 
the Stella Bianca^ the latter took a most affectionate leave 
of her dear friend, and proceeded on her way to see the 
king, to whom, as we have said, after due preparations she 
was presented. 


« ‘ 


S82 


CHIMOR A . 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

One day, at Schonbrunn, the Empress Charlotte, the 
Kmperor, and the Duke de Reichstadt, were thrown into a 
state of the greatest excitement by an announcement from 
the minister of foreign affairs, that he had received notice 
from the King of Sardinia that the estate known as the 

Val de Mazzara,” said now to be claimed by the Duke 
de Reichstadt, but belonging, by right of purchase, to a 
worthy native, natned Bolaro, had been taken possession 
of by the crown, in virtue of its being mineral land — the 
right to all mines and metals within that sovereign’s do- 
minions never having been forfeited — pertaining to the 
crown from time immemorial. 

‘‘Has he dared to do that?” exclaimed the empress, 
in the utmost fury of voice and gesture, much to the 
alarm of the minister. 

“ He has an undoubted to act thus,” said the 

emperor, “ and a good policy has dictated it.” 

“ Sire,” exclaimed the young Reichstadt, throwing him- 
self at the feet of his, grandfather, “ if you cherish for me 
a particle of love — if you value my life as anything, save 
for me that priceless heritage — all that was bequeathed to 
me by my father, except the glory of his name.” 

“ Rise, my son,” said the emperor, “ and listen a mo- 
ment. if the request you make was within our power 


CRIMORA. 


883 


to grant, it should be done ; but our own sense of the 
necessity of repelling any interference with our internal 
polity, shows to us the necessity of regarding that of other 
kingdoms ; wdiile the nations with whom we have recently 
entered into solemn compact, would not permit any in- 
frn^igement of that law which is not peculiar to that gov- 
ernment.” 

The empress listened, and bit her lip. The young duke 
retired, and rushing to the apartment of his still divine 
Fanny, threw himself into her arms, and in an agony no 
pen can describe, poured out his last lamentations. I say 
his last lamentations, for he never again left his room ; 
and from that day refrained from mentioning any subject 
which he thought would embitter his few remaining days, 
or make her unhappy whom only he really loved. The fact 
wms, the luxury and bliss he had found at home deprived 
him of any permanent wish for other society than that he 
there enjoyed, while the very voluptuousness of the exist- 
ence in which he revelled, thoroughly enervated him, and 
brought him thus prematurely to the borders of the grave. 

When the young duke had suflSciently recovered to 
utter his thoughts in the ear of the fair creature to whom 
he still clung, as though sure of forfeiting her if he 
loosened his grasp, he said : 

‘‘ Ah ! how bitter is this hour, when I feel that we are 
to separate for ever.” 

Separate ! ” exclaimed Fanny, with startling earnest- 
ness. 

I had hoped,” continued the duke, not hearing the 
voice of his angel, that this trial would not come till my 
soul left this feeble tenement.” 


384 


CRIMOR A. 


What painful thoughts are these, my dear duke ? ’’ 
pleadingly inquired Fanny. 

I had hoped,” continued Reichstadt, that as my 
tenuous thread of life was soon to snap asunder, it would 
be with the full conviction that I had left you an estate 
and a name that would secure to you independence and 
the highest considerations. But, alas ! the Fates are 
hopelessly set against me. My fortunes must follow my 
father’s, though I have the double sorrow of knowing- that 
the news of the wreck of this frail barque he set afloat on 
the ocean of life, will reach him at the very time he most 
needs the incense of filial love to sustain him mid his own 
mighty afflictions.” 

‘‘For heaven’s sake tell me, my dear duke, what all 
this signifies ! ” said the divine danseuse^ as she fervidly 
kissed the pale forehead now resting on her throbbing 
bosom. “Do not distract me by this delay — do not kill 
me with words of whose meaning I am ignorant, and to 
which I have no conscious clue.” 

“ Indeed, sweet girl ! ” replied Reichstadt, gazing at 
his Fanny with all the intensity the flickering light in his 
soul could throw into his eyes, “ you have not then guessed 
the purport of my words and actions. Well, it is not 
strange ; for my intellect has grown feeble with my frame, 
and as you said yesterday, ‘ the hectic flush of death has 
gnawed out the bloom of youth.’ But perhaps I do you 
great injustice in thinking you would leave rne, for I now 
remember that we have both recently cherished a new 
hope that has gilded our chains afresh.” 

“ Leave you, my dear Reichstadt ! Leave you^ with 
whom I have beei^ so happy — you, who have given your 


CBIMORA. 


385 


very life to render mine felicitous — you, whom I now see, 
to my eternal sorrow and regret, fast sinking to the 
grave.” 

But before you add the word ‘ never,’ ” said the 
young duke, interrupting her, hear the reason I had for 
my cruel thoughts. The estate, the Val de Mazzara, 
which I gave to you, has been wrested from me by the 
Sardinian government, and the emperor asserts that no 
redress can be had.” 

Is that all, my dear duke ? ” said Fanny, undis- 
turbedly. 

‘‘ Is not that enough ? ” replied Reichstadt, energeti- 
cally. All that I had to give, except my love, I gave ; 
and now all that I gave has gone, except my love. At all 
this the emperor stirs not. Do you think my father, were 
he free, would thus allow a foreigner to trample with im- 
punity on my rights ? And now what have you to say ? 
And when wdl you desert me ? ” 

Reichstadt ! ” said Fanny, as the big tears coursed 
down her cheeks, I cannot do justice to myself in the 
reply I would now make to you, unless I first debase 
myself in your sight, and tell you all. First let me assert 
that I will never leave you so long as you will let me 
remain by your side to watch over you and wait on you, 
for you are fast approaching the day when you will need a 
kind hand, a loving heart, to minister to your wants ; and 
I know the empress will be far from aiding you.” 

‘‘ Why do you say that ? ” exclaimed the duke, as if 
gasping for breath in a conviction that there was a plot 
against his life. 

38 


383 


CRIMORA. 


Promise me, first, to forgive me, and then to believe 
me in all that’ I say, and I will reveal to you the reason 
why I speak thus.” 

I do promise all pardon and love that this poor heart 
possesses,” replied the duke, faintly. 

“ Know, then, my dear Reichstadt, that the bribe with 
which you thought you won me, was not for myself ; I 
sought it for the empress, and for that I was brought 
hither.” 

0, God ! is that true ? You did not come, then, be- 
cause you loved me ? ” 

“ At first, I did not ; but as soon as I knew you inti- 
mately, and saw that you had a kind and truthful heart, 1 
gave myself wholly up to the agreeable life of making you 
happy. If I assented too readily to the schemes and 
machinations of the empress, remember I was too young to 
weigh well the consequences of my acts, and young enough 
to be dazzled by the splendor of a court, the favor of a 
sovereign, and the devotion of a duke. Now, I find that 
in the fulfilment of the very design she had in view, and 
to which I lent myself, is the punishment for my crime. I 
am to lose you whom I prize more than life, and to whom 
I have ever been faithful ; and again, houseless and friend- 
less, I am to be turned upon the wide world.” 

Alas ! this now is my only sorrow,” replied the duke, 
in a tone more from the grave than human form. I die 
willingly, and could die happy, if I knew that you would 
be well cared for. But what feeling has the world ? AVliat 
pulse of benevolence throbs in its vast senseless heart ? 
Ask my father ; for he knows too well ! ” Here the duke 
was overcome with emotion, and, being assisted to his bed, 
laid down to rise no more. 


CRIMORA. 


887 


What the divine- Fanny had said of herself was strictly 
true. Too young to know that her acts would result in 
other than the most trivial consequences ; flattered and 
caressed by the noblest of the empire, made a goddess of 
— a faultless divinity — no wonder she was led into 
an error of the head, though her heart was good and true. 
When she discovered that in the Duke de Reichstadt there 
Avas a truthfulness and oneness of purpose, that he pos- 
sessed a mind too lofty to suspect others of baseness, and 
that his nature Avas genial, sunny, hopeful, though his 
frame Avas delicate, she loved him with an intensity she did 
not think herself capable of ; she loved him too much. 

For a long time the young duke had been groAving fee- 
ble, and when the last blow came which we have just 
described, his spirits gave way. In a few weeks from this 
time, in the vault of the venerable church of the Capuchins, 
which enshrines a long line of the Austrian dynasty, was 
placed a rather small metalic coffin, which contained the 
remains of the only son of the Emperor Napoleon. 

Charlotte was not satisfied ; for, betAveen the chagrin of 
losing the so long coA^eted pass through the heart of an 
enemy’s country, and the satisfaction of seeing placed be- 
yond power to do harm, the young Avhelp of the lion of 
empires Avhorn she hated, she found her repose on other 
than a bed of roses. 

When her grief had sufficiently subsided, the divine 
Fanny glided again upon the stage as gracefully as she 
had left it. 

It w^as now a good time for the Prince de Carignano of 
Genoa to renoAV his suit, and he was about to proceed to 
Vienna for that purpose, when he Avas arrested by order 


388 


CRIMORA . 


of his king. To say that the prince was astonished would 
convey hut a faint idea of his emotions, for he was sure 
that .nothing but a miracle could have revealed* to his sove- 
reign aught of his intrigue. But the truth was, the Sar- 
dinian government had been as astute with spies as Austria, 
and the boatman who had so urged Phosphoro to attend 
the Carlo Felici was the man who had watched the prince’s 
movements when abroad, and learned from the nobleman’s 
servants his very thoughts and plans when at home. 

What served to limn the whole affair in bold lines, was 
the prince’s being thrown into the same prison-room that 
Signor Alfierdermo occupied. In the character of these 
men how great the contrast ! The prince was ambitious, 
haughty, unprincipled ; Alfierdermo quiet, engaging, honor- 
able. The prince was a traitor ; Alfierdermo would have 
yielded up his heart’s blood to save his country’s escutcheon 
from a shadow of obloquy. 

W'e must now consider ourselves as equals, I sup- 
pose,” said the prince to Alfierdermo, when he entered the 
prison and saw. who his companion was. 

^‘Perhaps not,” said Alfierdermo, reservedly. 

And why not ? since here I am no longer a prince, 
and misfortune, like misery, often makes strange bed-fel- 
lows. It is true, when in the world I thought little of 
merchants’ sons, but, under present circumstances, dis- 
tinctions may cease.” 

But perhaps you forget that innocence does not wil- 
lingly make a bed-fellow of guilt.” 

I infer from that then,” said the prince haughtily, 
that you consider yourself innocent, and me guilty.” 


CRIMOKA. 


889 


I am indeed* innocent,’’ replied Fiello ; “ as to your- 
self, I know not if you can say as much.” 

‘‘ I can ; for I am suspected of treason solely for having 
had under my protection an Austrian dancing girl.” 

I am accused of murder, which grew out of my en- 
deavoring to protect an English dancing-girl.” 

“ You tried to protect her from her lawful husband, I 
suppose ; and had to kill him to do it,” said the prince, 
tauntingly. 

“ Heaven forbid ! no. Believe me, my dear prince, I 
am innocent, and sought only the good of the child, 
towards whom my heart was most strangely drawn, and in 
whom I was deeply interested. But time will reveal all. 
Give me your hand ; let us be friends while we are prison- 
ers, and try and make the long, painful, dreary hours drag 
less wearily away. 

33 * 


390 


CRIMOKA. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

Aluine reached Genoa, and being set down ” at the 
hotel of the Qiiartre Nationes^ hastened a note to her be- 
loved Fiello, announcing to him her arrival. 0,how full of 
joy was every throb of her heart ! How her bosom heaved ! 
How the electric fire of love sparkled in her eyes, and 
streamed along from nerve to nerve, till to her fingers’ 
ends she glowed and trembled ! Smiling through tears of 
expectation, listening in a delirium of transport to the quick 
step that approached her door, the perfumed moments of 
an hour fled away. 

‘‘ With your permission, madaine^ the Signor Alfier- 
dermo is dead,” said the servant, as he extended a note in 
answer to the one he had carried, 

^^Dead!” ejaculated Aluine; and the color forsook 
her lips, and for a moment, like Niobe turned to stone, she 
stood fixed, lifeless, cold. The servant, sure that the lady 
had gone into a fit, dropped the note and rushed out for a 
medico^ and, in a short time, succeeded in bringing one to 
the apartment. During his absence, Aluine had sunk 
upon the floor, and though one hand was extended towards 
the note, she was iitterly insensible. Being placed on a 
sofa, and the lancet applied to her beautiful arm which it 
was sacrilegious to mar, she revived, and by the time she 
had sufficiently recovered to think of the cause of her 


CRIMORA. 


391 


strange position, the physician, who had had the prudence to 
avail himself of the contents of the missive, informed her 
of it. Now, undeceived, there was aroused in her bosom 
— though the news was sad indeed which the servant 
brought — a bright and glowing hope, which, growing 
each moment stronger and stronger, reanimated and soon 
wholly restored her. 

“ His poor father is dead ! ’’ said Aluine to herself, 
‘‘ and he, my Fiello, is in prison — in prison for the mur- 
der of my own brother-in-law ! But my Fiello is not guilty 
of aiiy crime ; therefore he will be free ! I can set him 
free ! I can — I shall — I 7nust. My Fiello guilty ! 
No, I know he is not ! He is my Fiello, and I know no 
crime could ever stain his pure heart. I ’ll go at once, 
and set him free ; and then — Oh ! how he will love me ; 
Does he dream that his Aluine comes to liberate him ! 
Does he not have some consciousness now that I am near 
him ? Oh, yes ! For I remember well, when in England, 
he never approached my house but I felt it in my heart, 
and knew of his divine presence. But come, take me 
to where that note was written, and then I will begin my 
new labor of love. 0 God ! aid me in this my great trial, 
and restore to me the most precious of mortals ; but — 
^ Thy will^ not mine^ he done,^ ” 

The physician, sure that his patient’s mind was still wan- 
dering, urged her to remain a day or so quiet in her 
chamber, and promised to bring to her all the information 
she desired to obtain ; but all was of no avail. The ser- 
vant ordered the carriage, and in ten minutes, Aluine, 
with palpitating heart, was . ascending the broad, marble 
stairway of the palace of Alfierdermo. 


392 


CRIMORA. 


The old man dead, Fiello in prison, Saffi remained mis- 
tress of the house. She and Wellington were inseparable ; 
yet they had put aside all talk of love, of marriage, of a 
blissful future ; for there was resting on him a fearful res- 
ponsibility no sophistry could evade. That morning on which 
Aluine arrived in town, they had spent in discussing, for 
the hundredth time, the probable consequences of a con- 
fession of the crime laid to Signor Alfierdermo. Saffi had 
urged upon her Carlo the necessity of explaining, at once, 
the whole transaction, as each day, she assured him, would 
render his testimony less liable to belief ; besides, there 
was an innocent man — a friend — suffering such tortures 
as the refined only can suffer or comprehend. It was at 
the close of one of these appeals, a stranger was announced, 
and Aluine, the elegant, the accomplished, the beautiful 
Aluine Lorma entered the saloon. 

Whom have I the pleasure of receiving?” said Saffi, 
with an earnestness which showed that she read in the face 
of the stranger, signs of deep anxiety. 

Pardon me, sweet girl,” said Aluine, I come to 
seek Fiello Alfierdermo.” 

“ Signor Alfierdermo, my master and my good friend, 
alas! is in prison,” said Saffi, the tears flooding her eyes 
and coursing down her cheeks unchecked ; “ but pray be 
seated.” 

I did not know whether I had heard such a report, or 
whether my disturbed fancy had drawn a false picture for 
my too longing eyes,” said Aluine ; ‘‘ for he was,” she 
continued as if talking now to herself, my dearest, my 
only friend ; and oh 1 how poor a sacrifice I should deem 
this life of mine if it could save his. Precious Fiello! 


CRIMORA. 


393 


Adored Fiello ! ” and again overcome by the depth of her 
love and sorrow, she sank back upon the lounge, insensible. 

Carlo ! ” exclaimed Saffi, ‘‘ this must no longer last ! 
A new misery, a new misfortune is gathering about this 
dreadful affair. * I feel myself implicated in it, though I 
know that heaven will finally shield the innocent. Aid me 
in restoring this beautiful woman, and when she is again 
able to understand an explanation, I must, I shall tell her 
of the innocence of Alfierdermo. It is a duty I owe to 
her, to her friend and to myself — -my own sense of right. 
This lady is doubtless his sister. What would you think 
of a man who, were you in prison, could see your sister 
seeking for you with tears, and ready to give up her 
life to save you, yet would not so much as tell her 
you were innocent, though he knew it ? Oh, Carlo ! 
let us follow where justice and mercy lead, and leave the 
sequel to a merciful Father. If we do wrongfully, no 
shrewdness, nor cunning, nor forethought, nor prudence, 
nor discretion, nor mortal wisdom, can guide us in an 
indubitable path, or save us from an evil consequent. If 
we do right, no harm can accrue from it that will refiect 
discredit on us ; and he who always acts thus may walk 
with a fair brow in the face of heaven. Carlo, I say again 
— and the more I love you the more earnestly I would 
demand it of you — this making victims of the innocent 
must now end.” 

From the decision of Safii, Charles Wellington had no 
appeal to make. His conscience told him that the truth 
had been spoken, and that the only just path he could pur- 
sue, had been pointed out to him. His better judgment 
favored it all, but he could not bring his spirit up to a 
resolution to submit to the trial ; and as soon as the strange 


894 


CEIMOKA. 


lady showed signs of returning consciousness, he went and 
shut himself up in his own apartment, to reflect and 
resolve. 

Has not my Fiello come ? ” said Aluine, starting up 
as if from a vivid dream. 

No, my dear lady,’’* said Safii ; but I have pleasant 
news for you, which, perhaps, will soon bring him.” 

Hope ! Oh, hope ! ” shrieked the distracted woman. 
Heaven bless thee, my child, for a ray of hope ! ” and 
poor Aluine threw her arms around the neck of the kind 
Safii, and kissed her in a delirium of joy. But,” con- 
tinued Aluine, still partially crazed by her misery, say 
on — say quick ! — say he will soon come to me ! — say I 
shall see him again ! — say again that he is innocent ! 
Oh ! forgive me that I rave thus — forgive me, and speak 
truth to me and I will love thee ever, ever ; ” and if 
there had been truth in the heart of a stone, it would have 
leaped forth at such a depth of feeling as the supplicant’s 
words and looks expressed. 

Be calm,” said Safii, in the mildest manner possible, 
and I will tell you a sweet truth. Signor Alfierdermo 
did not kill the man for whose murder he is in prison.” 

No, no!” again shrieked Aluine, “I knew he did 
not kill him I My Fiello can do no wrong ! ” and she 
leaned her burning forehead on the shoulders of the fair 
Safii, who felt the scalding tears of the afflicted lady 
swift following each other down her bosom. 

‘‘No, he did not,” continued Safii, “but my Carlo 
did ; yet he too is innocent. He saw the man creep to 
my door, and thinking him an assassin, shot him ; then, 
fearing the consequences, concealed his knowledge of the 
act, and so involved the guiltless.” 


CRIMORA. 


395 


‘‘ Dear girl ! ” exclaimed Aluine — a cheerful radiance 
spreading over her face, while a new flood of joy seemed 
glistening through her tears ; “ why should he have 
doubted the force and majesty of innocence ? Hasten to 
him, oh, I pray you ! — hasten and tell him that I know if 
he acts honorably no one will accuse him of guilt ; that in 
killing an assassin he did the state a service ; that if 
arraigned for the deed, I will myself fly to the king and 
proffer my own life for his ransom.” 

If you wdll do that, kind lady, I know he will follow 
your advice. Besides, a dear friend of mine, whom this 
same young man and myself once saved from the grave, 
having recently been received into the special favor of the ^ 
king, has pledged me her sacred w^ord to aid me if 
necessary, in this same fearful trial. Yes ; with these assu- 
rances, I am certain he will no longer hesitate, even were 
he not urged to this just step by the agony of his own good 
and stricken spirit. Yes ! my Carlo is the same noble and 
generous creature who saved for me my pet lamb, and 
kept my young heart from breaking. I will seek him now, 
and bring him to you.” 

Aluine was left alone. Then there rushed back upon 
her senses all the horrors of a failure in this mission, which 
within its little radius held every tender fibre of her 
being. Contemplating the trial, the evidence, the sen- 
tence, the execution, she sat for a while as if in a trance ; 
but when Saffi returned to the room, accompanied by a 
gentleman — the one who she (Aluine) supposed had in 
his keeping more than her very life-springs — her native 
powers came back in all their brilliancy and wonted energy. 

’Tis he ! ” said Aluine to herself, ‘‘ and he can kill or 
save me,” and ere any explanation of the gentleman’s 


396 


CRIMORA. 


mission could be made, she rose from her seat, threw 
herself on the floor before him, and poured out the full 
tide of her sorrow. With the look and voice of an angel 
she spoke to him of mercy. With a seraphic fervor she 
pleaded the cause of the injured. Like a high priestess of 
the temple of wisdom, she awed her hearers, and her 
words struck upon the heart like fire, and like molten 
gold sank into its depths. Truth, beauty, purity of soul, 
sincerity, and love, crowned her ivory temples with an 
effulgent circle. Every womanly charm, rounded by the 
goddesses of grace, aided her in her supplications. Had 
she been silent, the very divinity of her face, with those 
'beautiful hands hfted in their mute eloquence, would have 
obtained, of any being of feeling, the perfect realization of 
her petition. It was a heart-rending picture — a type of 
the suffering Mary at the foot of the cross. 

“ The sum of your request is ” (It was the crown 

advocate Aluine had been supplicating. Having learned 
that Alfierdermo, whom he greatly esteemed and regarded 
as a personal friend, had been accused of murder in his own 
house, he had come to see for himself if there was any 
foundation for the charge.) 

That he whom I adore may be as free as he is good,” 
said Aluine, interrupting him, for he is not — cannot he^ 
a murderer. In proof of his innocence I would die for 
him. The one who perished was my brother-in-law, but 
he was a villain. The blood of more than one cries 
against him for vengeance. The fairest and sweetest 
hopes of my own young days were swept away by him 
and his accomplices, and years of agonizing doubts and 
fears were thus entailed upon me. One, too, who confided 


CRIMORA. 


397 


in him with her whole soul, perished by his abandoning * 
her ; while one of your own countrymen he murdered, (it 
is believed), for his wealth.” 

^^All this, regarding the deceased, maybe true,” said 
the person addressed, and before whom the suppliant still 
remained kneeling, “ but who tells you the prisoner is not 
guilty of the charge made against him ? ” 

My heart tells me so,” said Aluine, wringing her 
hands, as though a doubt had been expressed, ‘‘ and this 
young woman knovjs he is innocent.” 

Wellington having followed the advocate into the room, 
stood there unobserved ; and hearing all that was said by 
Aluine Lorma, and no longer doubting who she was, made 
a final resolve to confess all. 

Rise, generous and angelic stranger,” said the advo- 
cate to Aluine, whose tears still bedewed the pavement, 
and pardon me that I have thus long permitted you to 
kneel on this cold marble. I will be your friend and 
advocate in this startling affair. Tell me,” continued he, 
turning to Safii, all you know of this, that it may.speed- 
ily terminate to the benefit of those who suffer unjustly, 
and that the criminal may meet his merited, punishment.” 

“ Of a crime no one is guilty,” responded Safii, rising 
to assist the trembling Aluine to a seat ; ^^'no one, as you 
will now see, for I will explain everything. My Carlo 
saw the man steal to my door, with a drawn knife, and 
being sure that I was about to be the victim of an assassin, 
sprang upon him and killed him. Carlo is here, and ready 
to swear .to it all.” 

It is rumored that the deceased was known to some 
of you,” said the advocate. 

34 


398 


ORIMOEA.* 


r 

Yes, sir ; Carlo knew him as an English villain, and, 
from circumstances, now believes that he came to rob him 
of some papers legally belonging to me or to my poor 
father Bolaro.’’ 

Your father ! ’’ cried Aluine, and she sprang forward 
and folded the tender montuna passionately to her bosom ; 
and as sisters in sorrow, these two innocent creatures 
mingled their tears together. 

Ah, now I begin to undei'stand the mysteries which 
gathering reports have flung about this intricate affair,” 
said the advocate. I know something of those papers, 
and soon shall know more. As the trial will instantly be 
proceeded with, and as your presence^ and that of your 
household, will materially aid me in my plea in your 
behalf, I command you, in the name of the king, to repair 
at once to the royal palace. You will also excuse the 
necessity I am under, of placing you in charge of a guard 
who will give you safe and courteous conduct. This se- 
curity is necessary, since I observe that one on whom you 
much depended for an elucidation of the charges, has 
escaped.” 

The advocate took most respectful leave of lady Aluine, 
who, with tears in her eyes, prayers on her tongue, and 
a world of unutterable entreaties in her heart, followed 
him to the door — now regarding him as a special messen- 
ger sent by heaven to save her, and light the lanterna of 
hope over the dark sea of desolation on which her sinking 
heart, like a shattered barque, had so long been tossed. 


CRIMORA. 


899 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

A TRIAL for. murder is ever, from its nature, one of 
the most impressive and momentous affairs that can engage 
the attention of a court of justice ; in this instance it was 
peculiarly solemn. Signor Alfierdermo had long been well 
and favorably known by all the respectable Genoese. As a 
man of high and honorable purposes and benevolent actions ; 
as one possessed of rare mental and physical endowments ; 
as an affectionate and devoted son and loyal subject, he 
was greatly esteemed. Besides, the public had been ap- 
prised of some of his domestic afflictions — that his father’s 
eyes had been closed in death without those last comfort- 
ing words, attentions and consolations the filial affection of 
such a son would have been sure to bestow. 

Fiello, bowed down with grief for his father, and with a 
heart deeply lacerated by the long and continued silence 
of his ever adored Aluine, issued from his prison ; hardly 
heeding the clank of the chains with which his wrists were 
bound, or the murmur of sympathy which went up from 
the crowd that gathered about him on his way to‘ trial. It 
is true that the numerous bronzed visages, red caps, and 
janty way, now and then one of the throng had thrown his 
trimmed jacket over one shoulder, were indicative of a 
lower class of citizens, yet no close observer could say 
there was not heart there ; for many an eye glistened with 
tears, and many a quivering lip spoke of a burden within 


400 


CRIMORA* 


the breast. The guard, too, seeing the peoole’^s respect 
for their prisoner, showed their own deference by allowing 
him to proceed a step in advance of them. 

But of what avail were show, sympathy, courtesy, to 
Alfierdermo, who felt that there was but one source of 
comfort left on earth — none, if his Crimora was no more ! 
Death to him was not appalling; on the contrary, the fair- 
est garlands seemed gathered about the gate of the tomb. 
He knew that with but one single step he could stand in 
the bright spirit land, welcomed joyfully by many he had 
known on earth; that in the very decay of nature the 
principle of a beautiful' regeneration was involved ; and 
though the future was cheering to him m that light, his 
naturally sensitive disposition could hardly brook the 
thought, that those whom he had reason to esteem and 
love, and whose esteem and love he appreciated, should 
harbor in their breasts a doubt of his innocence. Into this 
last and saddest current his thoughts had diverged when 
he reached the palace, and a more than usual pallor spread 
over his face as, placed under a double guard, he awaited 
the summons from the Hall of Justice. 

While the above was going on, Wellington had main- 
tained his resolve. Rushing from the house like one filled 
with excessive joy or fear, he fled along the streets, nor 
lagged in his step till he had reached Tzella’s abode. On 
Jiis way a world of doubts and fears were almost over- 
whelming his reason : he might be too late — Aluine 
might be absent — his prayers might not be heeded ; and 
if it should be so — if, in his last and greatest conquest 
over self, he was but to reap bitter disappointment — in 
the welcome shadows of the vale of death alone could he^ 
find relief. 


CRIMORA. 


401 


Prom the balcony, Tzella had seen Wellington approach, 
and, by his speed, knew that something of moment impelled 
him. Hastening, therefore, to the stairway of the inner 
court, she gave orders to the guard to admit him at once. 

“ Now,’’ said Wellington, as he entered one of the mag- 
nificent saloons of the palace, ^^now, my dear Tzella — 
(pardon me, for I fear I am not prepared to do justice to 
my interests) having once, as you have often told me, 
saved your life, and having received your promise to aid 
me when it was in your power to do so, I come now to 
have you plead with the king my cause and that of the 
sufiering, innocent Alfierdermo.” 

‘‘ All that I have promised I will do, good Carlo,” re- 
plied Tzella ; but go on.” 

‘‘ And if you will but obtain from his majesty the pardon 
of the guiltless, I will show to you your own, your long 
lost mother.” 

“ My mother ! ” exclaimed Tzella, in a strange, sepul- 
chral tone, as if her thoughts had gathered it from the 
tomb, My mother^ do you say ? ” 

Yes,” replied Wellington ; but do not look so wildly 
at me. Your mother, though she knows not even that 
you live, you shall soon fold to your bosom ; for when you 
explain all to the king — all the circumstances of this 
dreadful affair, I am sure of our pardon ; then, she shall 
join you.” 

As I owe to you my life, so shall that life be given to 
save yours,” responded Tzella, solemnly ; for the idea of 
beholding her mother filled her bosom with feelings of such 
intensity, that one spray of joy or sorrow more would have 
sunk the frail bark of her being in the sea of insanity. 

34 ^ 


402 


CRIMORA. 


“ Know, then, angel Tzella, that Smithers died by my 
hand. The villain, as you have heard, was stealing with 
drawn knife to Saffi’s door, doubtless thinking it mine. 
I, supposing him an assassin, unperceived sprang upon him, 
and killed him, then fled to my room. Signor Alfierdermo, 
found over the body, was of course thrown into prison ; 
while I, not having courage to tell of my seemingly unnat- 
ural act, allowed the error to grow till it became difficult 
to overcome it. Kind heaven, however, granted to me 
the sight of your beautiful mother pleading for our beloved 
Fiello Alfierdermo, and a supernatural power only could 
have further delayed my present declamtion. He whom 
I killed was my own father ; but he had disowned me, 
and sent my poor mother to an early grave ; and for the 
papers which I restored to your sinless Saffi, came to add 
me to the number of his victims.’’ 

“ Good heavens ! exclaimed Tzella, ‘‘ what fearful 
things you relate ! ” 

‘‘ Yet as heaven is my witness,” continued Wellington, 
they are true ! Fly, then, to the King, and tell him ail ; 
for the trial must have commenced, and a moment’s delay 
even, may make it too late to save the innocent. Say to 
him your own mother’s life depends on the result of your 
mission, — that for long years, through heart-rending ' 
trials, she has been supported solely by her undying love 
for the prisoner, and that she must now save. him or 
perish ! ” 

“ Ah, my dear mother ! When am I to see her ? ” 

Soon, soon, you shall see her ! But go now, and, 
first of all, save Signor Alfierdermo ; ” and with such an 
almost unearthly ardor did he speak, that his wish, as far 


CRIMORA. 


403 


as it was in his faithful friend’s power, was instantly, 
unhesitatingly complied with. 

In a political and social point of view, Tzella had done 
the State great service, and as yet had asked no boon. 
Now was the time, when, in a cause in which her heart 
and (synonymous) humanity were engaged, she could 
speak with boldness and energy. She did so, and with 
more- effect than could have done the most eloquent coun- 
sellor of the realm. 

Your prayer to the very letter,” responded the King, 
‘‘ shall receive my weighty consideration ; and the inno- 
cent, rest assured, shall not be harmed. Yes, and that it 
may be as I promise, I will attend in person this extraor- 
dinary trial, and sound it with the deep fathom-line of 
equity and mercy. This I would do for your sake alone, 
noble girl ; but I have a further incentive, in the fact that 
two of my most worthy subjects are herein profoundly in- 
volved ; ” and allowing the fair supplicant to kiss his hand, 
he departed at once for the Hall of Justice. 

According to express orders, no parade was permitted 
on this occasion, and the Idng, as a private individual, 
presented himself in court, soliciting the privilege of listen- 
ing to arguments, pro and con^ in relation to the murder 
committed in the dwelling of the esteemed citizen. Signor 
Alfierdermo. On the right of the chief justice, a seat 
was assigned to (for the time being) disrobed royalty. 

The police who entered the palace, and found Alfier- 
dermo over the body of the deceased stranger, were the 
first examined. Their testimony was direct and conclu- 
sive. The prisoner was the only one in the room where 
the body lay, and he held a knife in his hand, with which 


404 


CRIMORA . 


he doubtless committed the deed, but which he dropped 
as soon as discovered. It was true the report of a pistol 
had been heard, but as no weapon, save the ftnife, was 
found upon either of the parties, the act had unques- 
tionably been done by the instrument here shown. 

The defence was, that the deceased intended robbery 
and murder, and that the prisoner had a right to kill him 
*^vhen found, on his (the prisoner’s) premises with such 
designs : — that the wound was evidently made by a ball, 
and not by a knife, and that the blood on the instrument 
was the result of accident, and not from being the weapon 
of death. 

The light, however, which for an instant seemed dawn- 
ing on the affair, was soon extinguished — the treacherous 
Crown Advocate recapitulating the testimony of the police, 
and affirming that he could produce unequivocal evidence, 
that the deceased was a wealthy and highly respectable 
English merchant — that he had been assassinated for his 
Avealth — for papers of great value, which, on his death, 
Avould fall to a paramour .of the prisoner, and consequently 
into the prisoner’s hands ; that the witness he relied on 
was no less than the very noble Prince de Carignano him- 
self, who was ready to testify under oath to the truth of 
all of his (the advocate’s) declaration. Here the prince 
Avas brought in, and, on a recapitulation of the advocate’s 
testimony, substantiated every Avord of it. 

For Alfierdermo all hope seemed now lost. The prince, 
though incarcerated, (incarcerated for political offences, as 
Ave have seen), had procured, through Avell-paid agents, 
such information as suited his purposes — purposes fiendish 
and diabolical, groAving out of jealousy, wounded pride and 


C RIMOR A • 


405 


vanity, caused by the relationship which he surmised 
existed between the divine Fanny (whom he still loved) 
and Fiello — Tzella being their go-be-tween. 

Could there be anything else conspiring against the 
prisoner pn trial ? It would hardly seem possible ; yet 
there was, in the person of the advocate himself, notwith- 
standing his pledged honor to see justice done the inno- 
cent ; for the ravishing, eloquent loveliness, and the lovely 
eloquence of Aluine Lorma, when she kneeled before him 
to plead for her Fiello, had so captivated him that he de- 
termined to possess her, even at the cost of his soul, 
and be rid of his rival — a rival in love, and now in 
misfortune, in the affections of the people. His power to 
do harm, however, was of short duration. 

The witnesses having been removed, the king requested 
that the young Englishman and the montuna Saffi should 
be brought in. 

Before kingly majesty and the majesty of the law, one 
would suppose that Wellington would have trembled : but 
it was not so. Vestecfwith the majesty of adjust cause, 
innocence and truth, with Saffi holding one hand, he stood 
unappalled, and commenced his testimony : — 

‘‘ First of all I most solemnly affirm,” said he, that 
Signor Fiello Alfierdermo is innocent of the crime alleged 
against him, and that if any one is guilty it is I. To free 
myself from this implication, however, I must go over the 
story of my life, and somewhat that of another, the thread 
of whose history from my early recollection, and from what 
was revealed before me this morning in the palace of the 
prisoner by one Madame Jones, remains now wholly un- 
ravelled in my hands. 


CRIM ORA. 


“ A few days before I was born, a woman arrived in Fal- 
mouth with an infant (not her own) who Avas to inherit a 
large estate left by its grandfather, — one of the noble 
Lathmons of Scotland. Smithers, the deceased, (by mar- 
riage a relative of the mother of this child), anxious to ob- 
tain the property, sought to get rid of the heir. This he 
found it not diflScult to do, since the mother herself "was 
desirous of concealing its birth ; and as the lady for her 
accouchmmt had come from London to Glasgow, Smithers 
sent there a victim and ready tool of his own, to take care 
of her and secure the offspring. The person he selected 
for the accomplishment of his object Avas my own mother, 
who, I believe, continued faithful to her charge till its prom- 
ised means of support (intercepted by Smithers) ceased, 
and its parents Avere supposed to have become indifferent 
to its fate. By this time, (having myself been turned a 
beggar upon the world), though young in years I Avas old 
in crime. I abused the innocent little girl — heaven for- 
give me ! — and Avas the instigator of her being sent to a 
foreign land. Later, as my fatKer disoAvned me, and 
spurned me from his doors ; as he had been the cause of 
the infinitude of Avretchedness my mother suffered, and 
finally of her most cruel death, (Avhich also nearly destroyed 
another Avho, till that moment, supposed her child had 
been Avell cared for, but who noAv learned that it was not 
to be found), I resolved to be revenged. Time, hoAvever, 
and years of slavery (though brought about by the same 
black-hearted villain), and the meeting A\dth this fair girl 
who still clings to me, so remoulded my very nature, that to 
kill this man — my most unnatural father — Avas as far 
from my heart as the stars are from earth. But the 


CRIMORA. 


407 


wicked cannot always prosper, nor the innocent suffer un- 
justly ! Through my mother I knew that Smithers by 
fraud, and perhaps murder, had possession of the Bolaro 
documents, and when I encountered this lirio of the valley, 
I felt that heaven had commissioned me to secure them for 
her — their rightful owner — and heap coals of fire on the 
head of the wrong-doer. I proceeded and was successful. 
Your majesty knows the sad sequel. Let me now add, 
that the beautiful girl whom you are pleased to honor, and 
whom my Saffi saved in the Val de Mazzara, is no other than 
the one Smithers had put out of the way to rob it of its 
just rights — the one my mother had charge of — the one 
I abused — the one by whose loss a fond parent was 
nearly distracted, the child of Signor Alfierdermo, and a 
Crimora of the North.” 

The chains of the prisoner clanked loudly,’ for as the last 
words of the witness reached his ears, he raised his hands 
to press them upon his almost bursting temples. 

Tzella, to catch a glimpse of her mother, had unnoticed 
crept into court, and as she, too, heard the words of Wel- 
lington, she, with fond, frantic joy, threw herself at the 
feet of her father, and clinging about his knees, as though 
fearful some rude hand would tear her from him, sobbed 
out her love, her respect, and her adoration. 

The king as King now rose in the Hall of Justice. 
“ Thy beautiful child has saved thee,” said he to the pris- 
oner. Thou art pardoned ! ” 

“ He is pardoned ! ” said the guard, and the word 
pardon ” echoed through the palace. 

‘‘ Thy resumed his Majesty, the wedded one 

of thy heart, is here, too^ to greet thee ; ” and as Alfier- 


408 


CRIMORA. 


dermo stood near the hall door, which now flew open, 
Lorma, the loved, sprang in, and with a wild scream 
fell fainting on his bosom. 

When Alfierdermo could speak, he raised the weeping 
Tzflla, and pressing her warmly by the side of her mother, 
said, This is our own, our long-lost child of love.” But 
Aluine’s heart could hold no more. She folded her beau- 
tiful offspring in her arms, then sank upon the floor. 

“This is indeed a woman of great soul! said the 
Idng, deeply affected by the scene before him. “ She is 
worthy the name CRIMORA ! She has borne Love’s 
Cross nobly, and now receives her most sweet reward.” 

Alfierdermo, freed .from his chains, gave his attention 
to his heaven-born bride, which soon restored her. 

Saffi and Wellington, Aluine, Alfierdermo, and Stella 
Bianca between her fond parents, kneeled, the guard pre- 
sented arms, as the king descended from the Bench. 
“ May God bless you ! ” said his majesty ; and he was about 
to withdraw, when one in the garb of the contadini stepped 
forward to say something about what he had done to thwart 
the schemes of the prince and advocate. It was Phos- 
phoro : but he could give no utterance to the feelings that 
now crowded his breast ; so dashing a tear upon the pave- 
ment, he turned away, and was lost amid the crowd. 





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